


Memory Revealed

by Count24



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Accidental Revenge, Bad Ministry, But it Gets Better for Them, Dementors, Dumbledore Bashing, Gen, Getting Help, Guilty Dumbledore, Onieromancy, Running Away, Very Mild Weasley Bashing, mentions of abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-10
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:28:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 32,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23097097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Count24/pseuds/Count24
Summary: During the Triwizard Tournament Harry learns more than just how to survive. When the Ministry begins to slander his name, he uses it to make himself a way out.
Relationships: None
Comments: 104
Kudos: 534





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm almost surprised I've managed to get close enough to the end of this to feel comfortable beginning to post it. I currently have three stories on my screen being written, and two more in my head waiting to be written.
> 
> My Pirate Harry is currently in writers Block. My self-insert has been scrapped and is being re-written into a time travel. And then this one, which only has three chapters left to completion. Then there are two which I haven't actually started yet, because I currently only have a base concept for. A Legend of Zelda fic, which I'm excited about, but still need to find both a hook for and a plot, characters and goals are easy. And finally a self-insert that will actually work and not get so bogged down in minutia that I lose the plot. Which is what happened to the other one.
> 
> So, wish me luck, and enjoy this while we both wait for my coffee deprived brain to finish rummaging through the trash heap that is my inner landscape, to find those nuggets of gold that will lead to complete and interesting tales.

Three weeks! It had been three weeks since he’d been returned to #4 Privet Drive. More importantly, it had been that long since his friends had written more than cursory greetings.

Ron’s letter, only one since the beginning of summer, had rambled on and on about some new prank of the twins, then ended with a comment of something important about to happen but he wasn’t supposed to say anything about it.

Hermione’s was, in a way, even worse. While longer it held even less of real interest. She spent almost an entire page on a breakdown of their summer homework. Then a second page discussing at length the trip to Rome she’d taken with her parents. And then, maddeningly, mentioned, just like Ron had, that she was to be doing something with Dumbledore but she wasn’t allowed to tell him anything about it until they were together.

The newspaper wasn’t any help either. He checked the headlines every day, but nothing about Voldemort was ever said. He had expected that to be big news. Just over a month ago he had been taken from the third task of the Triwizard Tournament, to a graveyard. Peter Pettigrew had used his blood in a ritual to give Voldemort a new body. By a minor miracle, Harry had escaped, but Cedric Diggory, another Champion in the Tournament, had not survived.

“Kill the spare.” Voldemort had ordered Pettigrew. Harry was hearing those words in his dreams, almost every night. Most mornings he was waking up wondering if he was going crazy. And he couldn’t even talk to anyone about it. It wasn’t like the Dursley’s would even listen long enough for him to explain anything. No, if he tried to speak to either Vernon or Petunia they would probably yell at him to do more chores, or some other such prattle. And Dudley would be even worse, if he didn’t just punch Harry, he’d go find his gang and spread Harry’s worries around.

For the fifth time that week, Harry sat down at his small desk and pulled the pamphlet out of the drawer he had stuck it into. He’d found it on the grounds during the final push up to the third task. On one of the rare walks he’d taken by himself just to get away from the pressure for a bit. He guessed it must have been dropped by one of the Durmstrang or Beaux Batons students, as it was all about foriegn schools of magic. It was an odd thought he’d had, ever since his first visit to Diagon Alley.

When Hagrid showed up and told him he was a wizard, he had felt wonderful. Like the whole world had opened to him, for the first time in his life, he felt like he could do something. Then they had entered the Leaky Cauldron, and suddenly it didn’t feel so wonderful anymore. He had been crowded, surrounded on all sides, by large pressing bodies. Everyone wanted to touch him, to say something to him. It was like being back in his cupboard, with Dudley’s gang in there with him. He couldn’t get away, and they wouldn’t listen to his pleas, even if he’d had the nerve to make any.

The Alley itself was only slightly better. All the noise and unusual sights were distracting. Which allowed him to largely ignore the many people who stopped to stare at him as he walked by. But he was pretty sure it was only the combination of Hagrid and people wanting to finish their errands that prevented them from swarming him the way those in the pub had done.

Then there was the train. Which no one had told him how to find, until the last moment. At first, he’d been tempted to blame Hagrid. But the giant man wasn’t the only one who could have told him. Sure he was the only person who had spent time with Harry, but the letter from the school could easily have had that tidbit in it. It could have been on the ticket itself. Or they could even have had someone at the station keeping an eye out for new students who didn’t know. So, it wasn’t just Hagrid who hadn’t thought to tell him, it was everyone.

Then on the train, he’d met several people, but only one who hadn’t been interested in him because he was the Boy Who Lived. And Neville hadn’t seemed to be interested in anything beyond finding his toad. Ron had asked about the scar and what he remembered before anything else. Hermione had commented that she’d read all about him. And then Draco had shown up, clearly only interested in being friendly with the famous boy.

At first he had thought Draco was the worst. But then he’d had a nightmare. He’d dreamt he was back in his cupboard and Hogwarts had been nothing but a cruel joke. When he woke up, he remembered what Hermione had said about reading about him in several books. In a cold sweat he had wondered if everyone knew about the cupboard, his letter had been addressed there after all. Maybe they knew everything. Certainly people like Malfoy seemed to think he deserved it, maybe Ron did too. 

It hadn’t gotten much better. He’d tried in the first couple of weeks to make more friends, but no one seemed interested in getting to know Harry. Instead they all wanted to know the Boy Who Lived, the famous scar. A couple of people he’d tried to start a conversation with had even asked for an autograph.

Quidditch had the best thing about Hogwarts, but even that lost appeal when someone tried to kill him during a match. Hermione had been convinced that it was Snape. Harry had agreed of course, at first. Snape had certainly been vocal about how much he disliked Harry. And the worst of that was his depiction of Harry’s father. Everyone else said that James was a good man, and a loving father. But that was it, no details, no real information, just nice words. Snape, talked about how James had bullied people, strutted about like he owned everything, been proud and arrogant. The man Snape described was Draco Malfoy, just with a different name, and in Gryffindor instead of Slytherin.

And for all Harry knew, he could be right. Draco seemed to be disliked only by those kids who had grown up around muggles, and of course Ron. But Fred, Ron’s older brother, had explained one evening that the Weasley’s and the Malfoy’s had been at each other's throats for generations. Something about an unpaid bet. But they weren’t sure which family had failed to pay.

So if Malfoy was well liked by the teachers, and he must be given that he never got in trouble for the things he said and did, then maybe James really was just like him. If that was considered good behavior it would make sense. Not that Harry could mimic it. Even if he knew how, he had too much of that kind of treatment from the Dursely’s to ever want to treat anyone else that way.

Finally, there was the stone. Proof that the wizarding world wasn’t any better than the muggle one. In a sane world, the stone would have been put somewhere that was actually safe, where it would actually have been protected. Sure, he had thought the defenses rather sound in his first year. But he’d had time to think about them since. He, Ron, and Hermione had gotten past them with little difficulty. Even counting Ron being injured by the chess set. And he had found Quirrell at the end, so clearly he had made it past as well. And he’d done so without killing either Fluffy or the troll. He could probably have done it much sooner if he hadn’t been trying to leave everything intact. So, the stone was never actually safe. And Dumbledore had as much as confirmed that it had never been intended to be safe, that the whole thing had been a set-up. A trap to lure two people into confrontation, himself, and Voldemort.

And there it was. Dumbledore had stated, almost directly, that he expected Harry to handle Voldemort. A Seventy year old wizard who had already outsmarted death at least once. With years of experience and training, unknown knowledge of forgotten, and dangerous magics. And Harry was expected to stop him with no more than half an education.

He called it half an education because he knew from looking through Dudley’s school books that he was missing a good deal of subjects. Admittedly, all muggle subjects, but still. Bins couldn’t teach a mouse to eat cheese. Astronomy was practically useless, unless you were doing extremely sensitive research, which they wouldn’t get into for years yet. Potions could be useful, but only if you study it out of class, because Snape didn’t teach at all. He just bullied and berated everyone. In fact, there were only two classes that seemed to have any real value.

Transfiguration and Charms. Mcgonagall and Flitwick, were both excellent teachers. Defense was a joke, even when they had a competent teacher, it was only for one year, and he had been away for part of every month. And Herbology, while interesting sometimes, was basically gardening. Which Harry was already familiar with, thanks to Petunia. Every class reminded him of hours spent bent over in Petunia’s rose bushes, trying to make them look good enough to win awards, and never getting so much as a thank you for his efforts.

No maths, no chemistry, no sciences at all. Nothing on the wizarding world, like what traditions the purebloods keep complaining about the muggle raised ignoring. Not even other languages, which he now knew were numerous. If every magical species had their own language. Did the goblins? No wonder they don’t like wizards, if they aren’t even respected enough to have kids be told they have a separate language, let alone a chance to learn it. And the way centaurs have been treated, he’d had to look that up. Apparently the centaurs only ever had one war with wizards, and it was called a draw at the end, they signed a treaty that gave them living space in the forest, and that was the end of it. As long as they continue to live in areas that the wizards don’t actually care about, they’re left alone.

Second year was, in a way, both better and worse than the first year. No possessed teacher, just a truly incompetent one. But the basilisk made up for it. Sure at the time he had thought it was just luck that had allowed them to figure it out and solve the problem. That the only reason the teachers hadn’t done it was because they were missing information. Which yes, Harry was partly responsible for, after all, he hadn’t told Dumbledore about the voice he had been hearing inside the walls.

Except, Dumbledore had been a teacher the last time the Chamber had been opened. He had known, or at least suspected that it had been Riddle. But he had allowed Hagrid to be blamed and expelled anyway. And that had been fifty years ago. Fifty years he’d had to work things out. Talk to Myrtle. And he was supposed to be the smartest, most capable wizard in the world, or at least in Britain. If it took three twelve year olds eight months to figure it out, what was Dumbledore’s excuse for having failed for fifty years?

Short answer, in Harry’s opinion. He knew, he knew, and he did nothing. He left it to Harry to figure out and solve the problem, again. He even allowed Hagrid to be blamed again, and sent off to prison. Allowed himself to be removed from the school, leaving nothing more than cryptic advice.

He probably could have solved it himself in the first week after Mrs. Norris was attacked, but he left it for Harry to deal with. There was a pattern there that Harry didn’t like. More evidence even that not only did Dumbledore know about how the Dursleys treated him, but that he most likely approved.

Third year just confirmed that Dumbledore wasn’t doing anything useful, and added to the evidence against the rest of the world.

Sirius broke out of Azkaban. At the time, no one knew how, not even those who had known him. It made Harry want to pull his hair out thinking about it. Now that he knew, it seemed so obvious, and as glad as he was to have a godfather, he had to wonder about the Ministry. It was well known that the animagus transformation was possible. And it had to be known that some people didn’t register despite the law, if it weren’t, there wouldn’t be penalties for not registering. Yet nothing was done to prevent it in the prison. Surely it couldn’t be that difficult to set up spells to prevent someone from changing shape while inside the prison. Or at least to detect when they did.

But no, that would make sense apparently. And then, rather than have actual people come to guard the school, they sent dark creatures that destroy lives to not only wander around the edge of the school grounds, but to invade the train. To assault the students at a quidditch match, and later to attack students and teachers alike after they learned that Sirius was innocent.

Completely brainless. And on top of that, Sirius had been sent to Azkaban without even a trial. Blamed for crimes that had been committed by Pettigrew.

It would have been simple to learn the truth, just a short questioning with the truth potion Snape had taunted him with. But that would have made sense, would have seen justice met. The Ministry couldn’t have that. Or maybe, it was Dumbledore who couldn’t have it.

Harry had seen some of the death eater trials in Dumbledore’s pensieve last year. He claimed that he had no power to overrule the Minister for Magic, but as Chief Warlock, he was in charge of scheduling trials. Which meant he had to have known that Sirius hadn’t gotten one. And Dumbledore had been fair during the trials of Ludo Bagman, Karkaroff, even the Lestrange’s and Crouch Junior. Yet he hadn’t even tried to get Sirius a trial.

That was very nearly the last straw for Harry as far as Dumbledore was concerned. The man claimed to be on Harry’s side, said he was looking out for Harry’s best interest. Yet he constantly sent Harry back to a place where he knew Harry was unhappy, unloved, unwanted. He said so himself, that he had known he was condemning Harry to ten dark and lonely years at the Dursleys.

But then came fourth year, the one which had just ended a few short weeks ago. The tournament.

Dumbledore again hired someone who was faking their identity and intentions. Moody was supposedly one of Dumbledore’s oldest friends, yet somehow he failed to see anything off in the man's behaviour. And when Harry’s name came out of the Goblet, Dumbledore did nothing about it. Oh, he claimed there was nothing that could be done. But if it took a powerful spell to force the Goblet to spit out Harry’s name, then another powerful spell could have reversed it. And supposedly there was no one more powerful than Dumbledore. But no, that would make sense, that would keep Harry safe. And Dumbledore had not once ever tried to keep Harry safe.

So Harry had been forced to compete, and rather than set challenges which were tough but non-life threatening, the administrators of the tournament had chosen tasks which were likely to kill the Champions even if they won.

A dragon, and not just any dragon, no, the most vicious, violent kind of dragon. Nesting mothers, who were extremely protective of their eggs. And they had to steal one of those eggs. Seriously, government approved, spectated poaching. As a task for teenagers.

Then, because endangering the lives of the Champions wasn’t enough, they put people the Champions cared about at the bottom of the lake. Harry and the other Champions were forced to swim, which Harry had no experience with, to the merfolk village and rescue their hostages. If it hadn’t been for Dobby, Ron would have died, because Harry wouldn’t have been able to get to him. And not just Ron, but Gabrielle as well. Sure, Dumbledore claimed that they would have been safe, that they would have been brought back up at the end of the task even if the Champions had been unable to rescue them. But Harry trusted that claim as much as he trusted a dementor to curl up and purr like a kitten.

The third task in comparison wasn’t too horrible. Nasty creatures, but none quite as dangerous as the dragon. Traps, though again, nothing quite as deadly as a near impossible swim in the lake. And a riddle. Actually if it hadn’t been for Crouch Junior imperiousing Krum, and using the cup as a portkey, it wouldn’t have been half bad. For that matter, if Crouch hadn’t been clearing the way for Harry, Cedric might have actually won.

Unfortunately, Crouch did screw with things. Adn Harry was sent to the graveyard, along with Cedric. Cedric died, and Voldemort returned, and Harry escaped by pure luck.

Of course, the Minister refused to accept the truth. And Harry was sent back here to Privet Drive again. Back to endless days of chores and no one to talk to. And now, even his friends were keeping him in the dark. Refusing to tell him important things.

While he was ruminating on the last few years, staring unseeingly at the pamphlet, there came a rapping at the window. Looking up, he saw pigwidgeon, Ron’s owl, sitting on the sill, tapping at the glass. A large envelope tied to his leg.

Smiling, maybe this letter would have some real info for him, Harry rushed over to let the excitable little scops owl in. Pig flew inside in a rush and circled the room twice before landing on the desk and hopping from one leg to the other while trying to hold out the one with the letter attached to it. Hedwig watched this from her perch with a doleful eye.

“Hold still Pig. I can’t get the letter off with you hopping around like that.” Harry said after his third attempt to snatch hold of the bird.

Looking pitiful, Pigwidgeon held still long enough for Harry to remove the letter, then fluttered over to perch next to Hedwig and snatch some food and water for himself. Hedwig barked at the little annoyance in agitation but shuffled to one side to give him room.

“Don’t worry girl, he won’t stay long. You know he prefers to be moving whenever possible.” Harry reassured his owl before settling at the desk to read this latest missive.

Harry,

Ron and I were pleased to hear from you, and hope that you are doing well. We have ever so much to tell you, but we’ve been warned against saying anything in a letter. So we are waiting until we see you again. Dumbledore says that he will allow you to join us in a few weeks, so we shouldn’t have to wait long.

I hope you aren’t brooding too much. I know it must have been horrible, what happened. But it’s important that you keep your head up and try not to let it bother you too much.

Hermione

Wham. The sound bounced around the small room as Harry slammed the letter down on the desk. So, they were together. And they were talking to Dumbledore. After everything, they were putting loyalty to Dumbledore above their friendship with Harry. And Dumbledore would “allow” him to leave the Dursleys in a few weeks. As if the man had the right to decide what Harry did during the summers. A few years ago he had hoped that maybe the headmaster would be willing to help him get away from the animals he was forced to call his Aunt, Uncle, and Cousin. But that was before the headmaster had revealed that he had known of how Harry was treated. Before the decrepit old man had confirmed that he would cheerily send Harry back to hell.

Harry wasn’t sure why the old man thought this was the best place for Harry. But he wasn’t going to put up with it any more. If no one else was going to help him, it was time for him to help himself.

While he, Ron, and Hermione had been looking up spells for him to use in the tournament, he had several times wandered off to find some escape from the pressure. One of those times, out of a loss for anywhere else to hide from the wandering crowds intent on asking for autographs, or just wanting to be near the Boy Who Lived to become a Champion, he had wandered into Myrtle’s bathroom, and down to the Chamber of Secrets.

The place had been just as cold and dark as he remembered, and the corpse of the Basilisk had begun to stink after two years of laying there untouched. But a search of the Chamber had revealed some interesting reading material. Most of it was in languages Harry couldn’t make out, and about half of what he could understand was stuff he wasn’t at all interested in. Like how to raise inferi, or breed a basilisk, and even a small book that was dedicated to methods of controlling the minds of others. But there were a few that weren’t so nasty. Some of the books were even entirely on pranks, spells that seemed to have been invented by two people working together as there were two sets of handwriting on the pages.

One of these books was a personal journal, written by Salazar Slytherin himself, and Harry had taken to reading it, as the first page talked about the cousin Salazar had grown up with, and how he had been beaten often by said cousin for his magic. 

It seemed that Harry had something in common with one of the founders, and the thought had intrigued him so much that he had read the book clear through in one sitting. It detailed Salazar’s early struggles in life, and why he had ultimately developed the view of muggles that he had held for the rest of his life. Though what was of greatest interest to Harry, what had him pulling out his notebook and pen, writing down every detail, was the description of how Salazar had escaped from his “family” when he was Harry’s age.

Nodding to himself, Harry stood and shooed Pigwidgeon out the window. Then he bent to his trunk and pulled out his potions kit. He had some brewing to do.


	2. Chapter 2

Molly Weasley smiled as she directed the dishes in her kitchen to the sink with her wand. While cleaning was not her favorite way to spend an afternoon, it was always a delight to have the children home for the summer. The weather was nice today, warm but not scorching, with a gentle breeze that kept air moving. The scent of flowers from the garden picked up and swirled around giving the air a pleasant aroma. And she did enjoy cooking for the family.

As the lunch dishes cleaned themselves she got out supplies to begin getting dinner ready, singing along softly with the Wizarding Wireless, which was currently playing a tune from her favorite artist, Celestina Warbeck.

As she chopped carrots a large snowy owl came in through the kitchen window, landing on the back of a chair nearby to watch her. She smiled at the bird, recognising Hedwig, Harry’s owl. It made her think of her unofficial seventh son. Harry was such a sweet boy, and was ever so kind to everyone in the family. He’d even offered to help in the kitchen the few times he’d been over.

So odd for a young man to want to cook or clean. So very different from her own brood, yet fitting in so well. She didn’t like to think on it too hard, and had never mentioned it to anyone, but she often daydreamed of what it would be like to see the boy with her daughter. He and Ginny would make a lovely couple, and it would fit the image so well. His father had married a redhead after all.

“Hoot.” The owl barked, startling Molly from her reverie. Looking down she saw that the bird was holding out a leg, to which was tied a letter.

Laughing at herself, Molly bustled over and untied the letter. “Thank you Hedwig, would you like a treat, or some water before you head home, or are you in a hurry?” She asked the bird gently.

Hedwig tilted her head to one side and barked again, then eyed the cupboard where the owl treats were kept.

Chuckling, Molly went to the cupboard and brought out the bag. Shaking it, she scowled. Only a few left, they would need to buy more soon, especially if they were going to be receiving owls as much as they usually did over the summer.

Percy had his girlfriend, who sent a letter at least once a week. The twins were doing some kind of correspondence with several of their classmates, and seemed to get three or four owls a day. Even Ron was getting owls somewhat regularly now, even with only the two friends. And they ought to start expecting Ginny to start receiving owls soon, she hadn’t done so well in her first year, but after that horrible business with the diary was cleared up she had made up for lost time quickly enough.

She passed a treat to Hedwig and directed her to the water bowl by the window as she opened the envelope to see who it was for. Given that it was from Harry it ought to be for Ron, but there was always the chance, and she didn’t like to make assumptions if she could avoid them.

The Weasley family, and Hermione. The envelope said, causing Molly to frown. Why would Harry be writing to all of them at once she wondered. Then she shrugged, the only way to find out was to read it. And it might be best to read it herself before anyone else did, in case there was something that needed to be kept from the children. There were some things they just weren’t old enough to deal with yet.

She seated herself at the table as Hedwig barked a final time and took off through the window. Unfolding the letter she began to read.

Hermione Granger was not having a good summer. Oh, her homework was finished, that had been easy. Half of it had been done before they left Hogwarts, and the rest she had finished at home before they left for their trip to Rome.

Rome had been wonderful. They had seen all the famous sights, including her favorite, the Vatican Library, which was full of astounding historical artifacts, on top of all the books. While she had not been allowed to read much while there, there had been plenty to see.

Unfortunately, all of that had been overshadowed by the knowledge that one of her best friends had been left in misery. She had wanted to bring Harry along on their trip, and her parents had even agreed, but when she tried to bring the question to Dumbledore she had been shut down. Even ordered her not to mention the idea to Harry at all.

Harry was trapped with his relatives. While he had not been overly forthcoming with the details, she had gotten the impression over the last few years that they did not treat him well. And Ron’s story of bars on his window when he and the twins had gone to rescue Harry in second year had been worrying. Each year when they got to Hogwarts, Harry seemed almost smaller than he had been when they left, and despite seeming to have a huge appetite, he was unable to eat more than a small helping. While she despised Ron’s table manners, she couldn’t help but notice that even she ate more than Harry, and Harry seemed to have the best table manners of anyone in their House, including herself. Yet he ate faster than anyone else in the entire Great Hall. Even towards the middle of the year, when he was eating full portions, he would still finish sooner than anyone else, often even if he started after them.

And now, she was at the Burrow, the Weasley family home. She had come at Headmaster Dumbledore’s request, they would be heading for somewhere else tomorrow. Someplace the adults called headquarters, whatever that meant. And she and Ron had been sworn to secrecy about it. They had been specifically ordered not to tell Harry anything about it at all. And she was worried.

Why could they not tell Harry what little they were allowed to know. It wasn’t like what they knew could hurt anyone. And there was no way Harry would reveal anything to the death eaters. So why was it so important to keep Harry in the dark?

Then there was the worst part of being here. All the Weasley kids wanted to do was play quidditch, and a few other games. Apart from the twins, who also wanted to prank everyone non-stop. She was the only person here who actually enjoyed reading, or any form of study. It was mind numbing. Especially on a day like this, with soft, wispy clouds in the sky. Bright sunshine, and blue sky. Every single one of the Weasley children were in the air playing a mock quidditch match. Percy could have been nice to spend time with, except he was off at work, and wouldn’t be back until later in the evening.

Ron of course, threw a fit when she declined playing with them. He couldn’t seem to get it through his head that she didn’t care for flying, or games very much. At least Harry understood and never tried to pressure her into things she wasn’t interested in. He enjoyed flying, and that was enough for him. Why couldn’t Ron be the same way?

And Ginny, she had hoped that she would have an ally against the boys in the younger girl. But Ginny was just as quidditch mad as her brothers. And the few times they had been alone, she had pestered Hermione for anything about Harry. The girl was a little obsessed with the Boy Who Lived. Hermione had tried, repeatedly to warn the girl that if she only saw Harry as the hero of the last war, he’d never be interested in her. But she never seemed to listen. Finally, Hermione had given up on that route, and instead advised the girl to date other boys so she could relax and be herself around Harry. Maybe that would get him to notice her.

Not that Hermione was hoping for such an outcome. She had given up hope this last year that Harry might notice her. Not that she was surprised when he hadn’t. No one was likely to notice frumpy, buck toothed, frizzy haired, Hermione Granger when there were girls like Cho Chang, or Fleur Delacour around. She had been so surprised when Viktor had asked her to the ball that she had said yes before she’d really thought about it. She hadn’t found the older boy attractive like the other girls had. Not being a quidditch fan, his fame on the field had no interest for her. And he hadn’t had any real interest in her favorite subjects. Not to mention his inability to pronounce her name properly. But the real kicker for her had been when he mentioned that he had asked her because he hadn’t wanted to go with a groupie, they were far too easy and he preferred a challenge.

That had almost made her blood boil, it was just too bad that he had waited until after the second task to tell her. She could have avoided at least some of the nasty hate mail if she had known. Then she could have told the cretin off sooner.

But Harry, he hadn’t even noticed her when she was getting hate mail for toying with him. Beyond being mad at being lied about and people attacking his best friend. So she’d given up on her crush and decided to move on. Now she just had to decide where to move on to. Ron seemed to be interested, but he was so immature. And he hardly had any idea of how to be romantic at all. She’d tried dropping hints to Ginny, hoping she would relay the information to her brother, but the girl was just too obsessed with Harry.

Eventually, as it got close to time for dinner, the Weasley kids came down from their game to head inside and see what their mother had prepared. Which was Hermione’s cue to put her book away and follow along like a good guest. She was starting to hate this pattern, but it wasn’t like she had anything else to do.

Dinner was rather plain, which was a bit of a change from the norm in the Weasley household. Usually Mrs. Weasley would do something simple for lunch, then go all out for dinner. But tonight it was soup and sandwiches. Mr. Weasley appeared as they were settling down at the table. He took one look at the meal and turned an inquisitive eye on his wife. Mrs. Weasley gave a little shake of her head and motioned him to his usual seat at the head of the table.

Hermione resolved to eavesdrop a little after dinner, see if she couldn’t learn something about what was going on.

After dinner, she was joined by the twins, who had also noticed the exchange between the adults, and a moment later, Ron and Ginny joined as well. That was when the twins smiled at each other and whipped out their latest invention, Extendable Ears.

With these they were able to listen in on the adults conversation without getting close enough to be easily noticed, and the five of them took seats near the stairs, inserting the strings in their ears.

“Molly dear.” Arthur started the conversation. “What’s wrong? You only make soup for dinner when something's bothering you?”

Molly sighed. “Oh Arthur. It’s Harry, he sent us a letter today, and I don’t know what to do with it.”

“Us?” Arthur looked curious. “Not to Ron, or Hermione?”

“To the whole family Arthur. Here look.” She pulled out the envelope to show her husband.

Arthur looked over the simple address and grimaced. “Well, that’s different. He clearly knows that Hermione is here. What did the letter say?”

“It said, oh Arthur it said he’s leaving.” The woman broke down, falling into a chair, sobbing.

Arthur rushed to his wife’s side, pulling her into an embrace. “Calm down Molly, it’s okay. We’ll figure this out. Should we call Dumbledore?”

Molly flapped a hand at the side table. “It’s in the junk drawer. I wasn’t sure where to put it until I was sure it was safe to show to the kids. He said Dumbledore is the reason he’s leaving.”

With a last squeeze, Arthur stood and moved towards the drawer she had indicated. “Okay, floo the Order, we’ll head there tonight. They’ll need to know about this. If Harry has already left we’ll need to start a search. If not, then we can head him off before he does.”

As Molly stood, the kitchen door slammed open and five teenagers fell through the opening. Practically screaming, as one. “We’ll help!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short Chapter. Most of this work is short chapters though.


	3. Chapter 3

“Worthless blood traitor. Shame of this house. How dare you show your face.”

“Silencio.” Sirius roared at his mother's portrait. That was the third time today it had been woken. Albus had promised he would do something to keep the damn thing quiet, but that had been almost a week ago, and still it was hanging in the entry hall.

#12 Grimmauld place was starting to get to him. Sirius had never liked this house, even though he’d grown up here. This was where all of his worst memories lived. He’d experienced the cruciatus curse for the first time in the drawing room just off the entry hall. When he was five, at his mother's wand. He’d asked why they never spoke to the neighbors. In the library his father had forced him to learn fifty ways to curse a muggle, when he was eleven, just before Hogwarts. The man claimed it was good for him to know such things as it would give him something to discuss with his peers in Slytherin.

Every room, every piece of faded furniture, even each and every step on the staircase, held a memory of some horrid thing that had been done to him by people who had the audacity to call themselves family.

Family, that word had very little meaning to Sirius Black. It once had, once, a long time ago, he’d had a family worth living for, worth fighting for. Then they were gone, all of them, in less than a week. Peter betrayed them, James died, Harry was taken away, and Remus left. Even Albus, who had once been like a grandfather to all of them, had done nothing. He could have gotten Sirius a trial, could have checked on him, somehow. But no, he hadn’t been worth the old man’s time.

And now, now he was trapped back in this house, which held only horror for the former Marauder. Remus was back, sort of, when he wasn’t off on some mission or other for the headmaster. But Harry was still with those muggles. Lilly’s sister, who didn’t deserve the honor. No matter that Albus had assured him that Harry was well cared for at Privet Drive.

Even if the boy was well cared for, which Sirius had a hard time believing. He had offered his godson a place in his home, just an hour or so after they had met properly. Harry had accepted, no hesitation, no question, he simply pounced on the offer as though he had never heard something so wonderful in all his life. No matter what Albus had to say about the place, Harry couldn’t be happy there.

But today was meant to be a good day. The rest of the Order was supposed to be coming at last. He would have company for the first time in what felt like ages. And tomorrow, the Weasley clan should be making their first appearance. Which meant kids. Kids might actually be good company, they would laugh, crack jokes, he’d heard that the twins were pranksters, maybe they’d have some good stories to share. That would lighten the mood in this place a good deal.

Moving into the kitchen he sighed. Kreacher had been given the job of cleaning this room two days ago, but the old house elf all but refused to do anything. He stumbled around the house, grumbling to himself, and insulting anyone that passed by. The room was still covered in a fine layer of dust, and the cooking utensils looked like they hadn’t been used in years.

Pulling out the new wand he had acquired at the small second hand shop in Taiwan, he waved it about, incanting cleaning charms he only half remembered Lilly teaching to him and James. Halfway through the spellwork, he collapsed into a chair, head sinking to the tabletop as his eyes welled over with tears for the brother who would never stand with him again.

Time passed as he sat there, mind awash with memories that refused to leave him in peace. It had been years since the last time he had proper control over his emotions or thoughts. The dementors had stripped that away, and the miniscule amount of time he had in the small clinic he had secreted himself away at hadn’t done more than broken through the wall he had built around his heart, to protect himself from the worst of the dementor’s effects.

When the fireplace blazed to life, and a head appeared, he looked up. Molly Weasley was in the flames and asking something, but there was a roaring in his ears and he couldn’t make out what she was saying.

“I’m sorry Molly, can you repeat that?” He asked, wiggling a finger in his ear. 

“We need to come through Sirius. We have news about Harry. Is anyone else there? We need to tell as many of the Order as we can.”

News about Harry? If anything was going to pull him out of his funk, that would do it. In an instant he was on his feet and moving. “Come on through.” He called back as he headed for the door. “I’ll call the others in.”

Only two were in the house at the moment. Daedelus Diggle and Emeline Vance, both of whom were checking out the upstairs rooms, trying to determine if any of them was clean enough to be used for housing. He called them down and told them what Molly had said.

Emeline quickly pulled a mirror from her pocket and called Professor Mcgonagall. The message was quickly relayed, and they were assured that everyone who could be reached within the next few minutes would be there within the hour.

It was a long wait, in Sirius’ opinion. Every second that passed was one more during which he had no idea where Harry was, or what was happening. Molly and Arthur had flatly refused to tell him anything until the rest of the Order had arrived, so he was stuck waiting.

At least the kitchen was clean. Molly had begun waving her wand about almost as soon as she was in the room, and in moments the dust was gone, the utensils sparkling, even the old table looked like new. And best of all, as soon as she knew others were coming she had set to work preparing a small dinner, and tea for everyone.

Thus, while Sirius was forced to wait, at least he could wait with a hot cup of steaming tea. Chamomile, which was good for his nerves, and he’d sweetened it with honey. The taste was exquisite, though mostly he held the cup and allowed the soft aroma and heat to relax some of the tension out him.

When eventually, the others had gathered, the last to arrive being Albus himself, the meeting finally began.

“Well Molly, Arthur, as the two of you called for this meeting, I believe it proper for you to begin.” Albus said in a genial tone from the head of the table. “Please, tell us what prompted this.”

Arthur laid a hand on his wife's shoulder, who shuddered. Then he began to speak. “We received a letter today, from Harry.” He said, withdrawing from a pocket a sheet of parchment, which he passed to Remus who was seated next to him. “It indicates that Harry intends to leave the country.”

The letter was apparently short as Remus finished it quickly, dropping the parchment to the table as he turned to Albus. “He says it’s your fault he’s leaving Albus!” Remus cried, rising to his feet.

Beside him, Bill Weasley plucked up the letter and read it over before passing it to Kingsley Shacklebolt. As the room fell into bickering, Sirius watched the letter progress around the table. From person to person, each reading it over before passing it to the next and then adding their voice to the growing argument.

Finally, the letter made it to Sirius, and with aching anticipation he opened it.

Dear Weasley Family,

I want to thank you all for the kindness and hospitality you’ve shown me. You are the only family I’ve ever known. It’s too bad you don’t have the wealth or influence to go against the headmaster, if you did I could have stayed.

I’ll be gone in a few hours, I’m leaving the country. It's the only way I can be safe from the various people who want me dead, which seems to include the headmaster. He knows how I’m treated at the Dursleys, but insists that I must return to them.

I have made new arrangements that will actually keep me safe. I will think of you fondly in future, and hope that you are well. I don’t know if Voldemort will leave you alone, with me gone. He seems to be obsessed with me, and the lack of news about him seems to indicate that he is lying low. So he may ignore everyone else in favor of hunting me. If not, then I hope that you do all you can to remain safe.

With all my most cherished memories,

Harry Potter

P.S. Hermione, I’ve always thought of you as the sister I never got to have. Take care of yourself, and do what you do best, think things through.

Blinking away confusion, and tears, Sirius passed the letter to the next person and looked up to where Dumbledore was fending off arguments on how to find Harry.

In a moment of consternation, he realized that even if he bellowed he would barely be heard over the cacophony of Order members. With some twenty odd people crammed into the kitchen it was nearly impossible to be heard under normal circumstances. So he waited.

At the head of the table, Albus was having his own difficulties. He hadn’t yet even gotten to read the damn letter. Yet everyone still thought he would have the answer. If the boy had truly left that would be terrible. The entire plan for the war hinges on Harry Potter stepping up to serve in his role as savior, and possibly martyr.

With Tom having used Harry’s blood in the ritual to return himself to a body, there was that small chance that Harry would survive a killing curse again, but only if Voldemort himself cast it.

But, regardless of that fact, it would be impossible to defeat the dark lord without the aid of Harry Potter. The boy alone possessed the ability to so unfocus the former Slytherin that his plans became child’s play to predict. The war effort needed Harry Potter, not for his skill, which was laughably inconsistent, nor even his strength, which was minimal. No they needed Harry Potter for the icon and distraction that he provided. The boy was a figurehead for others to rally around, and a target for Riddle to aim at while others got the real work done.

So Albus allowed the angry mutterings and questions to roll around him as he considered the problem. Harry would have to be brought back, but perhaps a few concessions could be made. Not too many of course, the boy had to be willing to die at Voldemort’s wand in order for the plan to work, and thus for Harry to have a chance of returning. But perhaps he wouldn’t need to stay at the Dursleys any longer. He could say that this act of rebellion broke the blood protection he’d been placating Sirius with.

Not for the first time, Albus Dumbledore breathed a sigh of relief that none of the Order had any understanding of blood magic. They had all bought his explanation of why Harry Potter had to stay with his relatives. As if a mother’s love would end if the boy lived somewhere else. He had assumed the explanation would fail the first time he gave it. That the utter ridiculousness of claiming that his mother would stop loving him if he didn’t live with his abusive aunt, would shine through even to the most uneducated person. But it was simply accepted. Either people had become so used to Albus Dumbledore knowing everything, or they had stopped thinking.

Eventually, the letter was passed to Albus, who read it over blandly. He scowled at the mention of himself wanting Potter dead. While true, sort of, there shouldn’t have been any way that the boy could have figured it out. Either the boy was more astute than Albus gave him credit for, or he was simply tossing out justification to throw the Weasleys off his tracks.

He passed the letter to Severus, the only person left in the room who hadn’t read it, and turned back to the Order.

The meeting ended fifteen minutes later, with several people going to check on various locations the boy might have gone to. He claimed to be leaving the country, so the muggle airport and trainyard topped the list. Along with #4 Privet Drive, in case he hadn’t left there yet. However, there was the possibility that the boy was lying to send people looking in the wrong direction. So a few were sent to check Hogsmeade, Diagon Alley, and a few other such places where the boy may have found shelter.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra warning. This chapter is mostly abuse and reactions to it. Some people will find this hard to read.

With the adults running around like chickens with their heads cut off, Fred Weasley had a plan. That letter was addressed to the whole family, which meant Harry intended for he and George, and the other underage Weasleys to read it. And now the meeting was over, he could get into the room and have a look for it.

He just had to wait until enough people had filtered out that he could slip in unnoticed. Or at least have a good excuse.

Nodding to himself as Snape stepped from the room he began to move. Confidence, he reminded himself as he came level with the potions master. The man had no reason to prevent Fred from entering the kitchen for a drink.

“Mr. Weasley.” The dark voice of Snape slithered out of the shadows. “I do hope you aren’t trying to overhear things not meant for young ears.”

Fred did his best to sound purposeless, it was easier than it sounded, he’d had a lot of practice in his time at Hogwarts. “Nope, just looking for something to drink.” He nodded towards the kitchen.

Snape sneered and held out a bit of parchment. “Are you sure? Not looking for this then.” He waved the parchment.

Refusing to take the bait, Fred raised an eyebrow. He was proud of that, it had taken six months for he and George to train their eyebrows to rise like that. “And what is that Professor?” He carefully added a note of respect to his voice. Snape was big on respect, you could get away with a lot more if you just gave him what he felt was his due.

“Why this?” Snape waved the parchment again. “This is merely Potter’s letter. Though I suppose if you aren’t interested.”

This time Fred moved. He snatched the parchment from Snape’s fingers and had it tucked in a pocket before the hand finished lowering. “Not at all professor, but thank you for the offer.” He smiled at the man and continued into the kitchen.

Hearing Snape exchange words with someone else, and then leave, Fred grinned. Snape was easy enough to get along with he thought to himself. Give him a little respect and he’ll look the other way, until you get properly caught. Although, as easily as he gave up the letter, there’s probably not anything important in it.

Still he had it, and after grabbing a round of drinks he was able to slip back to the others where they could pass the letter around and discuss what they were going to do.

“Please uncle, no more.” Harry pleads for what must be the hundredth time. But the man is relentless. The belt slaps against his backside again.

“I have told you boy that I will not allow your freakishness to infect my son.” Each word was punctuated with another slap of the belt. Harry was sure that he wouldn’t be able to walk for a month. He knew that Vernon would say he wouldn’t be able to sit, but that was a silly thing to say. Harry wasn’t allowed to sit in the house, except in his cupboard, regardless.

At last Vernon’s arm seemed to tire and he lowered the belt. “Now, get to your cupboard. I don’t want to hear a peep out of you. Do you understand me boy?”

Nodding, Harry turned and left the kitchen. Petunia was waiting by the cupboard and she added a slap to the side of his head as he walked into the tiny room that had been all the comfort he had ever known.

It was sort of safe in there. Dudley wouldn’t chase him, or hit him, or even notice him, when he was in his cupboard. Petunia only ever knocked on the cupboard door, and that only when she wanted him to cook or clean something. Vernon was the only one who ever tried to get into the cupboard, and that was only once, he couldn’t fit more than one arm and his head through the door, and he gave up after a minute. After that he left Harry alone if he was in his cupboard.

So Harry laid down on the dirty mattress the Dursleys had granted him, after Dudley had grown too big for it. They complained the whole time, as though it had cost them an arm and a leg, and maybe a few kidneys not to throw it in the trash where it belonged. Just like Harry belonged in the trash, according to the Dursleys.

For some reason, they wouldn’t send him away. No matter how often they talked of sending him to an orphanage, they never did. And they talked about it a lot. Every time Harry did something they disapproved of, which was pretty much any time Harry entered a room.

Curling himself into the tightest ball he could, Harry lay on the filthy mattress and let his tears fall. He’d learned that as long as he didn’t make any noise, the Dursleys would ignore him. They hated it when he cried, if they could see him. But if he was in his cupboard, they couldn’t see him, so as long as he didn’t make a lot of noise they would ignore whatever he did.

He used to play with the few toys he had managed to save from the trash. But he’d given up on trying to pretend that there was anything better. He was five now, and that was a silly childish thing to do. It was fine for Dudley, he was a normal kid. He was allowed to be childish, and to play. But Harry was a freak, so he wasn’t allowed.

Somewhere, deep down inside, Harry knew the Dursleys were wrong. He knew that it was horrible of them to treat him the way they did. But it was small, that knowing, a tiny thing, beaten down until he could barely remember that it was there. All he knew was pain, and loneliness.

Sitting up from what he could only describe as a nightmare, Ron Weasley rubbed at his eyes, and found that he had been crying. It wasn’t often that Ron cried, and he’d never done so in his sleep. 

But what had brought that on he wondered, as he slid out of the bed. Slipping on his night slippers he decided to go to the kitchen for a glass of water, or something. Anything really, to get those images out of his head. Harry had never mentioned anything like that. Sure he’d said the Dursleys didn’t like him, even that he hated it at their house. But he’d never said anything about a cupboard, or being beaten, or any of that.

Surprisingly, when Ron entered the kitchen, he was not alone. It looked like the entire house was seated at the table, Mrs. Weasley was even passing out mugs of cocoa.

“Oh, not you too Ronny.” She whimpered, spotting Ron in the doorway. “Well, come in, have a seat.” She motioned to an empty spot at the table. “Did you have a nightmare?”

Blinking, Ron stumbled into the room and plopped down next to George, or was it Fred? “What’s going on?” He asked, looking at the other occupants blearily.

Ginny answered, looking shocked. “We all had a nightmare.” For a moment it looked like she was going to say more, but she raised her mug to her lips instead.

Bill offered a further explanation. “I dreamt about Harry. He was being beaten by his uncle.”

Ron stared at his brother, his jaw hanging open. But before he could think of anything to say, Charlie spoke up. “Me too, except I dreamed of him being locked in a cupboard for days on end. It was horrible, there was a filthy mattress tucked into a corner. It looked like he lived in there, and was just locked in as punishment whenever he did anything his relatives didn’t like.”

George whispered over his mug. “I saw him trying to get help from a teacher. He told his primary school teacher about how his aunt and uncle treated him at home. The teacher was fired, the school was fined for starting a false investigation, and every other teacher from then on just ignored him. His cousin beat him half to death in the schoolyard, and Harry could see one of the teachers just look the other way.”

Fred opened his mouth, but there was a crash from the counter. Molly had collapsed and was weeping. As one the Weasley children rushed to their mother. Bill and Charlie helped her up and led her over to a chair. Ron and Ginny cleaned up the mess, and the twins poured two cups of cocoa. One was set in front of Mrs. Weasley, and the other was given to Ron.

Only Charlie noticed when Percy and Arthur stopped in the doorway, as Molly began to speak.

“I, I saw it too.” She stammered, then seemed to gain confidence. “He was denied food, starved regularly. The fat lout of a cousin was given everything he ever wanted, and more. But Harry was forced to watch, and given only just barely enough to live on.” She tried to say more, but broke down in tears, burying her head in her arms.

Arthur rushed forward and wrapped his wife in his arms. Whispering softly in her ear. Percy stepped forward, blinking. “So, it wasn’t just us?” He said, motioning to the room.

“All of us.” Charlie answered offering Percy a mug.

“I wonder if we’re going to see anyone else tonight.” Bill echoed, setting a mug in front of his father.

“Did, did you dream about Harry too?” Ginny asked in a small voice.

Percy took a seat next to his sister and draped an arm over her shoulder. A moment later it was joined by Fred, George, and Ron’s hands. “I did.” Percy offered softly. “It was, well it was terrifying.”

“And we don’t know what caused it.” Arthur said into the silence that followed. “I know I was never told anything like what I saw. And those kinds of dreams don’t come out of nowhere. So if anyone has any idea what might have caused this, I’d really like to know.” He sounded drained, hollow, as though he were in a dark tunnel with no clue which way to go to find light again.

Everyone looked around the table, but no one offered any explanation.

A voice from the door broke the silence. “I take it, it wasn’t just me?”

Everyone looked up to see Hermione standing in the entrance to the kitchen, looking drained and worried.

“Woof, woof, woof.” Ripper barked at a cringing Harry. Overhead, Marge continued her tirade about what a worthless undeserving freak Harry was, but he’d learned to tune her out a while ago. The bulldog was the real threat between these two.

Sooner or later, the dog would be released from Marge’s grip. Then it would be a chase, just like every time before. This was the one thing Harry couldn’t escape by going into his cupboard. Ripper could fit in there with him. In fact, there was nowhere in the house that he could hide from the dog.

Which was why, when the bulldog was released, he made a mad dash for the tree in the backyard. The dog was unable to climb, so he would be safe from the animal there. Then all he had to do was wait. Ripper would get tired of him eventually, or Marge would leave. As long as he didn’t pass out from hunger, he could wait them out.

Sirius woke slowly from the dream. It was his nightmare, he had experienced something like this nightmare several times. His godson, growing up without him, developing a fear of him. He had never dreamed himself as a bulldog before, but it hadn’t always been his actual form that had chased Harry in his nightmares. Whimpering, he rolled over and curled in on himself.

Unbidden, more images flooded his mind. Dreams that would never be. James, holding Harry and telling him about quidditch. Lilly, showing Harry how to properly brew a potion. He and Remus, encouraging Harry to prank his parents.

Tears fell unnoticed as the former inmate pulled his legs tighter against his chest and shuddered with the pain of his loss.


	5. Chapter 5

On a lonely street just outside of the Little Whinging trainyard, Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt sat, disillusioned. Waiting for the appearance of a boy who seemed less likely by the moment to appear. The letter had unfortunately, not elucidated the method by which Harry Potter intended to disappear. Only that he had planned to leave the country.

There were several methods a young man might use. He could obviously take a train. Down to the coast and from there, hop a boat. He could take a plane, while it could be difficult to arrange, it was still possible. Then there were magical options, portkeys, while hard to get legally, and easily traced, were still possible. Apparition, highly dubious, and prone to failure over such a long distance, but still possible. He could even simply hop on his broom and fly. Rumour had it the kid was skilled enough to do it, even if it would be uncomfortable over such a long distance.

So, Dumbledore had ordered people to as many possible points of egress as could be covered. Kingsley here at the closest train station to Harry’s home. Mundungus was sent to check places where the boy could book passage on a ship. Moody went to the London Airport. Not the only place he could have secured an overseas flight, but it was the closest.

However, after six hours of watching the train station, Kingsley was certain the boy would not be making an appearance here. If he was still in Little Whinging, one of the other teams that had been sent to the village would have found him by now.

Plus, Kingsley had been up for almost forty six hours now. He had a pulled a double shift at the office, then had a personal emergency, in the form of his mother and a potions accident. Then a call from Dumbledore, followed by a shift and then another call from Dumbledore. He was at the edge of his capacity. While Auror training had included a section on staying alert, even in the most boring of circumstances, it hadn’t actually included staying awake for days on end. And coffee just wasn’t enough to keep him awake much longer.

The third time he caught himself tipping over from drifting off, he rose and shot a patronus off to Albus. “The boy’s not here Albus, and I’m at the end of my tether. I’m heading home, if you feel the place needs to have further coverage then get someone else out here.”

Twenty seconds later the lonely street was even more lonely.

Kingsley didn’t even try to change when he appeared in his apartment. He simply collapsed onto his bed and was out like a light. He did not wake, but found his dreams to be rather disturbing.

Stepping out of the floo at Malfoy Manor, Severus Snape waved his wand to remove the dust and ash of travel from his robes. Satisfied that he was as immaculate as ever, he strode from the greeting room with little more than a nod of recognition to the white faced children gathered in the corner.

On the Dark Lord’s orders, several of the children of his Death Eaters were to always be in attendance. So that they may, when appropriate, be witness to the majesty of their Lord. This most often meant that they would be called in to witness some poor sod who had earned the Dark Lord’s ire, and was to be punished.

It was, Severus thought, a good thing that Voldemort had no interest in sex of any kind. If he had, he would most likely have turned his attention to those same children by now. Certainly many of the Death Eater’s had done so more than once, and it was only the fact that these were the children of their allies which prevented unwanted attention.

As he made his way down the corridors which led to the receiving room of the Dark Lord, Severus considered the scrap of parchment he held in one hand. It was such a simple thing, only a few short lines. And yet it could possibly be the key to bringing the upcoming hostilities to a swift close. He allowed himself a small smile, even as he shoved his emotions behind the walls which had saved his life countless times. The smile was for the dichotomy of Albus and Tom.

It amused Severus to watch the bickering Order argue over his supposed loyalty. A habit the Death Eaters had as well, but they at least were polite enough to keep their discussions behind closed doors. The Order cheerfully chatted about their concerns in the open, where anyone could overhear them.

Not that it bothered him, in either case. They were all wrong of course. He had never been loyal to Tom Riddle, nor to Albus Dumbledore, no matter what any of them thought. He had joined the Death Eaters as a matter of self enhancement. When he had applied for a master to train under he had been told that there were no available positions. Yet the next person who applied was immediately given a place. His blood status had prevented him from pursuing his dreams.

So he had joined, and was instantly granted a place with one of the more prestigious Potions Master’s in the wizarding world. He then proceeded to break all previous records and receive a duel Mastery, in Potions and “Defense” at the unprecedented age of nineteen.

He sneered at the comment that it was unprecedented. The youngest on record to receive a Mastery was the Bloody Baron, who achieved his first Mastery at fourteen, under the tutelage of Godric Gryffindor at Hogwarts. Not that the pompous peacocks at the Ministry, or even those among the Death Eaters would ever stoop so low as to read a book, or speak with a ghost.

The last of these thoughts was firmly tucked away as the doors opened on the newly appointed throne room of the Dark Lord. He stepped through with all the grace of an eagle on the wing, knowing he looked every inch the Master that he was. Halfway across the room he ended a step in a deep bow, bringing one knee to the floor.

Staring at his own toes he spoke clearly, and loudly enough to be heard even through the doors he had just entered. “My Lord, I bring news.”

Somewhere ahead of him, someone scoffed but was cut off before they could speak by a high, cold voice. “Rise Severus, approach and speak.”

Returning to his feet Snape strode forward, allowing his cloak and robes to billow in that manner that left most people wondering how he did it. Fools, it was a simple matter to have an outer layer woven into the cloak and the robes. A layer which was much lighter, and would billow out. A muggle trick, and yet somehow beyond even the brightest of these so called “purebloods”.

“My Lord.” He spoke as he reached the dais upon which sat the throne of the Dark Lord. Beside him stood Bellatrix Lestrange, the most likely source of the earlier scoff. She stared down at him with undisguised hate. It was almost an effort to keep the scowl off his face as he noticed her, she had been a few years above him at Hogwarts, and had left before he had been old enough to be noticed. Yet he’d heard stories of the things she had done throughout his time in the school. Now, of course, she was insane, both from over indulgence in her “pastimes” and from dementor exposure.

Turning his attention firmly to the bald, noseless thing which sat upon the throne, Severus began his report. He held up the parchment as he spoke. “This letter was received yesterday by Arthur and Molly Weasley, it was delivered to the Order of the Phoenix tonight. It is from Harry Potter.” He paused as a wave of muttering went through the room, which was only silenced when Voldemort hissed at them.

“Silence.” The cold voice whispered through the room. Soft and syballant, yet somehow filling the space. “Continue Severus.”

“My Lord.” Snape nodded. “In it,” he waved the parchment for emphasis, “Potter states that he intends to leave the country, and that he is doing so because he no longer wishes to associate with Dumbledore. It was read by every member of the Order before it was passed to me.” He ended with a bow, presenting the letter to one of the lower ranking death eaters allowed to serve the Dark Lord directly, who carried it to Voldemort.

Retrieving the letter after the children had read it had been a simple thing. They had left it lying on an end table when they had finished, lost in their own contemplations of its meaning. He had merely to stroll past and retrieve it while under a disillusionment. Although they would probably not have noticed even if he had been dancing while doing so. 

The Dark Lord took up the letter, but did not read it directly. Rather he twirled it between his fingers, studying both it and Snape, who was still bowed. “You have done well Severus. Do you believe the boy can be convinced to join us?”

“I am uncertain my Lord.” Snape replied, back still bent. “The letter gives no indication as to his leanings with regard to yourself. Only that he wishes no further contact with the old man.”

Voldemort waved a hand in dismissal. “Very well, you may go.” He said airily, and opened the letter to begin reading. When he had finished he allowed the letter to fall to the floor, where it was retrieved by one of the lower ranks, before it could be considered clutter, and thus cause for the Dark Lord’s ire.

The letter was slowly passed around the room, and by the end of the following evening, had been read by every one of the Death Eaters.

Stanley Hammock was among the last of the death eaters to read the letter, and he contemplated what to do with it, now it had been passed around so thoroughly. He had joined only recently it was true, but he was anxious to rise through the ranks. He had seen how the inner circle were favored. Often they were not punished for their failures, but instead were allowed to nominate another to be punished. He had already been punished twice for the failures of his immediate superior, Yaxley. Yaxley was a screw-up of the worst kind. He rarely succeeded at anything, and was quick to lay the blame for his failures on others.

Stanley was tired of it, he wanted a way to prove his worth. And he had an idea. The Dark Lord was well pleased with the efforts that Lucious Malfoy had made in ensuring that the public was not yet aware of his return. Fudge and a few other lackeys at the Ministry were working on that rather nicely. But there was room for them to be “helped” along in several ways. And Stanley had a window of opportunity here. He just had to get this letter into the right hands. If presented properly, it would give the Ministry ammunition to throw against Potter and the headmaster. Which would keep the story of his Lord’s return even more quiet.

Yes, he thought to himself as he rose from his evening meal. He would do it.

An hour later he was striding into the offices of the Daily Prophet to meet with one of his contacts. Sutler Bones, a sub-editor for the newspaper.


	6. Chapter 6

Boy Who Lived Flees Headmaster’s Manipulations. The Prophet’s headline blared the next morning.

Alongside a copy of Harry’s letter was a scathing article.

In the last few weeks, dear readers, we have been bombarded with questions concerning the statements made by Headmaster of Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore. Specifically, the claim that He Who Must Not be Named, has returned.

In response to this claim, our dear Minister Cornelius Fudge has assured us that this claim is patently false. That in fact it is merely Dumbledore’s rumour mongering, in hopes to destabilise the Ministry before he steps in to take power for himself.

But which is the truth? Dear readers, let us consider the evidence we have. Fourteen years ago, the self styled “Dark Lord” was killed by Harry Potter, this we all know. And we also, all know that there is no known magic which can return the dead to life. If there were, it would have been used extensively at that time to return lost loved ones. Thus we can be sure that He Who Must Not be Named, is truly gone.

Then there is the claim that Dumbledore wishes to seize power. Again, what evidence do we have? In 1947 Albus Dumbledore defeated Gellert Grindelwald, ending two decades of war. He was offered the seat of Minister for Magic, by three different countries at that time including ours, yet he refused all of them. He was offered a leadership role in the international community, via the International Confederation of Wizards. He accepted only the position of Supreme Mugwump. I don’t know about you dear readers, but that title sounds impressive, and important, yet I had no idea what his actual duties were. So I went digging, it turns out the Supreme Mugwump coordinates with witches and wizards whose job is to gather information on what the muggles are doing, then presents that information to the I.C.W.. Yes, my dear readers, Albus Dumbledore is a delivery boy for our international community, he ferries reports from one person to another. Here in Britain, he has been offered the position of Minister of Magic, thirteen times in the last forty years, he has refused every one.

So, now I am at a loss, the claim that You Know Who has returned is clearly false. Yet the claim that Dumbledore seeks power is also clearly inaccurate. But now we have new evidence. The letter which accompanies this article was written by Harry Potter, it has been confirmed as authentic. As you can see, the boy intends to leave our shores, and he has blamed Albus Dumbledore as the reason for his leaving. This is the boy who made the claim of You Know Who’s return. Yet he is leaving because of the Headmaster.

With this new evidence my dear readers, we can make some new guesses as to the meaning behind the claim. What if Albus Dumbledore wanted to create a successor? What if he set up the Boy Who Lived to become the next Albus Dumbledore? We here at the Daily Prophet have sought anything to support these questions, and we found it.

In Harry Potter’s first year at Hogwarts it was rumored that the famous Philosopher’s Stone was being housed in the school. I am sure, dear readers, that like me, your children came home that year with stories of a three headed dog kept within the walls of the castle, on the third floor. My own son returned with a tale of a series of obstacles clearly intended to protect the Stone from thieves. However, what is most disturbing about this story, is that according to the Hogwarts rumour mill, Harry Potter managed to fight his way through those obstacles, and save the Stone from the very thief who sought it, former Professor Quirinus Quirrell. Professor Quirrell has not been seen in public since, and Headmaster Dumbledore issued a report that the man had fled the castle when he was caught attempting to steal the Stone.

In Potter’s second year, many attacks were reported against students. Again, according to the rumour mill, Harry Potter was personally responsible for ending those attacks. And finally, last year, the Triwizard Tournament. Harry Potter was entered as a fourth Champion. He claimed repeatedly that he had been entered against his will. And at the end, he made the claim that it had been You Know Who, who had done it.

As we established, it is patently impossible for a dead person to be returned to life. However, it is a relatively simple matter to trick a child with illusion. Could it be dear readers that Albus Dumbledore concocted a series of events to convince Harry Potter that a dead man was threatening him, then use the boy to spread this vicious lie, in order to set the boy up as a hero to replace the great Dumbledore?

We here at the Prophet are working diligently to find out and bring the truth to you, our dear readers.

The byline read Alfred Crabbe.

That evening, there was a meeting of the Order of the Phoenix.

“What is happening Albus?” Molly Weasley asked when the meeting was called to order.

“I’ve a better question.” Alastor Moody interrupted. He pointed to a corner of the room, where several people were huddled together. “What are the children doing here? I thought we were leaving them out of the meetings?”

“The children.” Albus began, raising a hand for silence. “Are here at my request so that they may hear why this has been happening.” Moody nodded after a moment of thought and sat back. “As for your question Molly, it is a bit complicated. The short answer explains nothing, so I beg you to listen as I explain what we know.”

He looked around the room, drinking in the eager expressions of the Order. This was his favorite time, when everyone looked to him for an explanation they could easily have found for themselves if they had just bothered to open a book. This was why he was seen as the most powerful wizard in Britain, if not the world. Because they all looked to him to have the answers.

“To begin with, it is my belief that the dreams we have all been experiencing are an effect of accidental magic. While the images themselves are false, they are not wholly wrong. They are Harry’s dreaming perception of events. And as we have seen, this perception has been twisted into nightmares. For example the scene many have witnessed with the dog. Children who have not seen a dog before can be frightened by such an animal if not approached correctly. Harry was four or perhaps five in that scene, he reacted badly to the approach of a strange animal, and in his nightmare it takes on greater significance.”

Albus sat back, taking a sip of tea, allowing his audience to absorb what he had told them. It was a load of hogwash of course, he had personally witnessed the actual event of Marge’s bulldog. It would have been terrifying for a young boy, but the nightmares spawned by the experience would have been far worse than the visions described by the various Order members who had seen it. At the time, he had laughed about it, it had been funny to watch a child running from such a small animal. In retrospect, he saw how it had been a scarring experience for the boy, but that was of little concern. Harry had to be trained to sacrifice himself for others, which meant he had to be taught that his life and well-being were of less importance than others.

Satisfied with the reactions of his listeners, he continued. “It appears that in his anger over the Tournament and the return of Voldemort, young Harry has tapped into a rare aspect of magic. Oneiromancy, the ability to control dreams, and instilled a bit of that magic into the letter he sent to the Weasley’s.”

He had to pause for a minute as several of the Order sputtered or commented on the use of something the Ministry considered Dark. Albus certainly agreed with that claim, it was an experiment with that branch of magic which had led to Gellert’s expulsion from Durmstrang. If used too heavily, or to send a true nightmare, it was possible to kill someone in a dream. Though extremely difficult, especially by accident. Most circumstances in a dream which would cause death, merely wake the dreamer. If the caster wanted to cause death, they would have to be exceptionally subtle, and careful about it.

Surprisingly, it was Hermione Granger that brought this to the attention of the Order. Not surprising that she knew, nor even that she spoke, the girl had a habit of speaking up. No the surprise was that it hadn’t been one of the Aurors to speak first.

“But that’s Dark Arts.” The girl blurted, quieting the room. She stepped forward, a bit timidly, and continued. “I read about it last year, when we were looking for spells to help Harry in the Tournament. It was only mentioned as a banned branch of magic. How could Harry do that?”

Albus granted the girl one of his favorite smiles. It was grandfatherly, even adoring, but said nothing important. “I rather doubt that it was intentional my dear girl. As I said, I expect this was accidental magic, there was after all no notice at the Ministry of any spells being cast at the Dursley home, and if he had set that up intentionally, there certainly would have been.”

“But Harry wouldn’t do Dark Magic.” Ronald stepped forward to stand beside the girl. He looked so sure of himself, Albus was almost sorry to point out the obvious error in the boy’s statement.

“I agree, however, there is no control over accidental magic. It simply happens, and we can only deal with the aftermath.” He maintained a calm, soft voice, so as not to anger anyone, and hopefully to soothe a few of the more ruffled looking members of the Order. There is nothing to be done about it now, other than to wait it out. Though certainly, when Harry returns to us, we will want to explain to him that such uses of magic are inappropriate.”

“Speaking of his return.” Arthur spoke up for the first time. “What do we know about his disappearance? Has he been spotted at all?”

There was a stirring through the room, as the mood and focus shifted. Despite the turmoil the dreams were causing, it seemed that most of the Order were more concerned with Harry’s disappearance than they were with the dreams. Even the children were more focused now, leaning forward as though to hear what was said more easily.

“Well, on that, there is good news.” Albus beamed at the group, this was a topic he could speak of without fear of being contradicted. No one knew where the boy was, or how he was moving, which meant he could say anything. “He has not been seen in any of the air or sea ports. Nor has he been sighted at any train station. Based on this, it is my belief that not only has he not left the country as of yet, but that he is either travelling by broom, or that he has not actually left the vicinity of Little Whinging.”

“Why would he stay there?” One of the Weasley twins asked, apparently to the other teens, though he did so during a pause, which allowed everyone to hear it.

“That would be something we would have to ask him.” Albus grinned at the boy. “Though it is possible that he might stay close to somewhere most would not think to look for him, simply because most would not look for him there.”

Moody thumped his cane on the floor. “That’s something I would do. Seems like a lot of credit to give the boy.”

Diggle leaned forward to shoot a look at Moody. “Albus did say it was one of two possibilities. And Auror training is not the only way to learn stealth you know.”

And suddenly the meeting fell into chaos as several people began commenting on their own thoughts. It took several minutes for Albus to regain control, and when he had Molly was motioning towards the children.

“Ah yes, you are quite right Molly dear.” Albus said with a genial smile. “Go on then, that’s all there is to discuss about young Harry.” He waved for her to take the children to their beds.

“Come along dears. No that’s all the involvement you need. Harry is your friend, so you deserve to know what’s going on with him. But the rest of this is Order business, which is none of yours. Now off to bed, all of you.” She bustled the teens out of the kitchen and halfway up the stairs before she turned back to the meeting. Before she left though, she waved her wand in a complicated gesture, that left a shimmering field across the stairs.

When she was out of sight, one of the twins reached out to touch the field, and tapped on a very solid wall. “Yeah, just her modified impervious charm.” The twin commented dropping his hand.

The other twin grinned. “We can get through it.” He offered looking to the other teens.

“Too loud.” Ron answered. “I remember the last time. My ears rang for a week.”

“Is that what that was?” Ginny asked. “I remember that, no leave it. Besides, we already have enough to talk about.”

“Ginny’s right.” Hermione said turning towards the bedrooms. “We should talk about Harry.”

The twins shared a look, then bowed to their sister. “Ladies first.” They chorused, allowing the youngest Weasley to move ahead of them.

Fred quickly followed, but George held Ron up to whisper in his ear. “I dreamt of the rescue last night, from second year. It was all just the same as I remember it. What about you?”

Ron looked his brother in the eye, and nodded.

“Okay, let's compare notes.” Hermione began when they were all seated in the room she shared with Ginny. “I’ve started dreaming about some of our Hogwarts adventures. Has anyone else?”

“I have.” Ron agreed promptly. “The troll, and the obstacles guarding the Stone.”

“Right, me too.” Hermione nodded. “And it all seemed right to me, just from Harry’s perspective. What about you three?” She looked at the others.

Ginny piped up. “I haven’t dreamed anything I was involved in yet, so I can’t say. But nothing looks like it’s been exaggerated in the way the headmaster was saying.”

Fred and George exchanged a look. “Everything we’ve dreamed seems to be spot on.” Fred offered.

George added. “And we’ve had a few we were there for, and they’re exactly right. Though, like Ron said, from Harry’s point of view.”

“So, we should assume that everything we’ve dreamed is the truth.” Hermione sighed. “I was afraid of that.”

“Why would Harry do this to us?” Ginny asked in a small voice.

Fred and George quickly moved next to her wrapping her in an arm from both sides. “I’m sure he didn’t mean to Gin.” Fred said quietly.

“Yeah, like Dumbledore said, it was an accident.” Ron offered.

“I’m not so sure of that Ron.” Hermione half-whispered. Then she spoke more confidently. “The book I saw it in, didn’t have anything on how it’s done. But it did say that it almost never happens as accidental magic, and that when it does, it’s only one or maybe two dreams. We’ve been dreaming Harry’s life for three days now, every time we sleep. Or at least, I have.”

“Me too.” The others chorused. Then shared a round of smiles.

“Exactly. And for that to happen, the book was very clear. It has to be intentional.” Hermione looked grave.

“But why?” Ginny asked plaintively. “What did we do to make him want us to feel like this?”

Fred and George squeezed her tightly. But Ron answered. “I think it’s because we told him that we were hiding things from him. We knew he was going to be mad when Dumbledore told us not to tell him anything important, but I never thought he’d be this angry.” He turned to look a question at Hermione.

“He may not have meant to.” She offered. “If he found something that told him how to do it, it may not have mentioned that we would feel so terrible about it.”

“Or not be able to sleep more than an hour or so at a time.” George added.

“Maybe he thought we would just feel what he did, and because he feels that way all the time, he didn’t think it would bother us any more than it does him.” Hermione voiced a thought she’d been avoiding.

Ginny broke down. “How could he feel like this all the time?” She cried into her brother's shoulder. “Every time I think about the dreams, I feel like everyone’s out to get me. Like there’s no one I can trust or rely on.”

Ron nodded, again looking to Hermione for an explanation. “I feel that way too. Like everyone in the world is just waiting for an opportunity to stab me in the back. Harry can’t think we would do that, can he?”

Hermione opened her mouth, but it was Fred who answered. “I think he used to. Think about how his relatives treated him. If we assume all of that is real, then he probably did feel that way when you first met. Now that we’re up to second year, I’d think some of that will start changing.”

“But if he felt that way for years.” George continued. “It won’t go away quick. And anything that reminds him of them, will bring it back up.”

Hermione finally got a word in as well. “I think, I think it was partly us, choosing not to tell him things. And partly Dumbledore for telling us to keep things from him. And maybe even a little the Ministry, for saying horrible things about him, assuming he’s reading the paper properly. Not just one thing, but everything together. And I don’t think he thought about how it would affect us, he was probably just angry and did something without thinking, as usual.”

Ron tried to chuckle, but it came out flat. “Yeah, he’s usually pretty good at jumping in without looking. I guess there had to be one time he got it wrong.”

Ginny buried her head and mumbled something that sounded like. “Chamber.”

The twins shared a pale faced look. “We’re going to see the Chamber, from Harry’s perspective.” They said together, sounding a bit sick.

Ron blanched, then tried to sound confident. “At least no one died there. And only Lockhart got really hurt.” He offered.

“Lockhart was the only one to be permanently injured Ron.” Hermione admonished. “Harry and Ginny both almost died.” She reached out and patted the younger girl's foot, which was all she could reach.

“Okay, let’s change the subject.” Fred said. “This one is a little too upsetting.”

“Right.” Hermione nodded quickly. “Well, there’s one other thing to think about then. Where would Harry go?”

Ginny pulled herself up, wiping her face, and glaring at Hermione. “I don’t know, but we need to find him. So I can hex him.” She nodded.

Fred and George grinned and nodded. “Us too, only we’ll prank him every day for a week.” They said together.

Then Fred added. “But we don’t know where he might have gone to. You two know him best. Any ideas?”

Ron and Hermione exchanged a look, but shook their heads. “No clue.” Ron said dejectedly. “We’ve never talked about anything like that.”

Hermione chewed on her lower lip for a moment, but she too drooped. “He never mentioned anything to me about leaving. Or where he might go if he did.”

The silence grew, and as none of them sought to fill it, Hermione moved forward, silently asking to join the huddle of the twins and Ginny. Both twins opened their arms, inviting her in, and a moment later, Ron joined as well.

They fell asleep like that, all five cuddled together for what comfort they could offer each other.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really short chapter, which is almost entirely set-up for later.

Harry Potter slunk through the halls of the ancient castle, alternately hiding from, avoiding, and sometimes flinching away from, the taunts and jeers of his classmates.

A threatening message floated before him. Enemies of the heir, beware. Hufflepuffs flinched away from him, giving him looks of deepest dread. Ravenclaws watched him warily, occasionally spitting out statements such as, “I’m a pureblood Potter.” Gryffindors sneered at him, and called him the heir. Even the Slytherins for once seemed to be united with the rest of the school. Though they said “well done Potter” and “who’s next Potter?”

Harry curled away from all of them, his only allies being the Weasley twins, and his fellow second years, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. Those two stood by him throughout, and even threw insults back at everyone.

The dream came to an end gently this time. Most of them did, he considered as he sat up. He knew from experience now that he would not be able to sleep again for at least a couple of hours. Though he wasn’t sure if that was an intended effect of whatever magic was causing this, or just his own body's reaction.

Pouring himself a glass of chilly water, he took a long drink. The liquid cleared his parched throat nicely, and he stood feeling more properly himself. Stretching, he bent the short distance to the floor pulling his calves close to his nose. He was losing some of his flexibility in his old age, but he was proud of the fact he could still manage that much.

Hoping to find some solace by spending time with his grandchildren, Filius Flitwick threw on a robe and wandered out of his sleeping quarters.

At Hogwarts Rubeus Hagrid was having a hard day. He hadn’t slept properly in half a week now, and it was affecting his concentration.

He’d brought out some old copies of the Daily Prophet to line a starter box for some new mandrakes that professor Sprout had gotten in. But he fell asleep halfway through the job. Head drooping down into the box, great booming snores echoing along the inside, yet failing completely to wake the man.

He startled awake having dreamt of the night he had been taken away to Azkaban, knocking over the pile of newspapers. One of them was caught by a breeze, and floated into the forest.

Through the trees it flew, picked up by stray winds, caught here and there on branches, to be torn loose by another gust. Or tossed off by squirrels, angry at having their homes invaded. Once it was caught by a bird who thought to use it to line her nest, but the bird was struck by an acorn, tossed by another squirrel, and the paper floated onwards.

Eventually, the paper came to rest on the hindquarters of a massive roan stallion. Who snorted and gazed at the offending paper for long moments before flicking it away with his tail. It was caught by another, a pale palomino who brought the paper up where he could read it properly.

“This,” the centaur Ferenzi said. “Is of great import. It must be shown to the elders.” And he turned and galloped deeper into the forest to the village. Where the paper was passed around the elders of the centaur herd for contemplation.

Unseen by any of the herd, when they had finished with the paper, it was drug away by a large spider.

At Grimmauld Place, Sirius Black stared down at a sheet of paper which had been delivered an hour ago by a haughty looking great horned owl. The bird had flown in through the window, landed on the kitchen table where everyone staying in the house had been eating breakfast, and looked around at them all. Then it calmly walked over and held a leg out to Sirius. It left as soon as the paper was removed.

Several people watched him with eager expressions as he tore open the envelope and discovered the letter tucked inside.

Dear Sirius,

I apologize if the spell hit you. It was only meant to affect Dumbledore, but I realized after I sent it off, that I may have miscalculated the amount of power I put into it.

I saw the paper today, and it got me worried. I’m watching the others here, just in case, but it’s only been a couple of hours since they read it.

I guess even us Marauders can make mistakes.

Love,

Harry

The words had hit him hard. Harry was safe, but he hadn’t said where he was. There were other people with him, but who were they?

Remus had come over and looked over his shoulder, and when he let the paper fall to the table had picked it up. After a nod from Sirius, Remus had read the letter aloud, then tucked it in Sirius’ pocket, but Sirius had been unable to speak ever since.

Now he was seated on his bed, staring at it. Willing it to tell him more.

There was a knock on the door, and it opened just enough for Remus to stick his head in. “You alive in here Sirius?” He asked.

A grunt was his only answer and the werewolf slipped inside, shielding the door with privacy spells as he approached the bed.

“Well, have you tried yet?” Remus asked as he took a seat next to his oldest friend.

Sirius blinked up at him. “Tried? Tried what?” He asked, confusion practically dripping from his tongue.

Remus blinked back at him. “You haven’t. You didn’t even notice did you? The paper is spelled like the map Padfoot, here.” He reached out and pulled the paper gently from Sirius unresisting fingers. Then he touched his wand to it and in a tone of reverence, recited. “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.”

The words on the page swam, and were replaced by new words.

Life seemed to flow back into Sirius as he reached out and stole the letter back, greedily drinking in the new words.

Sirius,

Isn’t it great, I found out how you guys hid the map. I wasn’t even looking for it. We were going through so many books though that I was bound to find something I wasn’t looking for.

Anyway, I can explain everything, but it’s too long to put in a letter. So you’ll have to come see me in person. You can bring Remus, and Hermione if you want, but no one else. That’s important, if anyone else shows up with you, none of you will get to see me. Just you three.

Have Padfoot come to 33 Nine Elms Lane, the US Embassy. Either have Remus or Hermione tell the guard that the marauders sent you, or if they don’t come, have Padfoot give him a note. They’ll get you to me. I’ll only be here for two more days though, so you have to come quick. My paperwork is being pushed through so that I will be in the U.S. under a new name by the end of the week.

They’ve promised that you can be free if you come Sirius. They watched my memories and gave me veritaserum. You’ll have to do that too, but once you do, you’re free. Please come Sirius, I don’t want to have to do this alone. I will, if I have to, but I’d rather you be with me.

Harry

Slowly, Sirius looked up, right into the eyes of his only remaining friend. Together, they smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to be clear. The Centaur and Acromantula will not appear again. I just wanted them to get a taste of Harry's vengeance as well. The Centaur refused to help until the very end in cannon, other than Ferenzi, and the Acromantula tried to eat him. They deserve a little something.


	8. Chapter 8

Cornelius Fudge was having the best week of his career. The unspeakables from the Department of Mysteries had explained what Potter had done. Dark magic, not particularly dangerous, nor likely to cause any real harm, beyond a few nights of lost sleep. But just illegal enough that when they caught him, they could slap him with enough sanctions to keep him nice and quiet.

Even better with everyone dreaming about the boy’s life, Dumbledore was starting to have a hard time keeping people convinced of his lies. He’d been claiming for years that the boy was well cared for, even loved, wherever the old man had stashed him. While the unspeakables hadn’t been sure if the dreams were real or not, they did say it was difficult to send such a comprehensive vision if it was false. Something about having to be able to picture the image you want to send clearly, and it being harder to send false images because of that. Whatever, the important thing was that he got to tell the Prophet that the dreams were real, and no one could prove he was wrong.

So Dumbledore was taking a huge hit, as the entire country spent day after day reliving a horrible childhood, which was all the Boy Who Lived had known. The people were beginning to grumble against him.

And today, today Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge would put the final nail in the coffin of Dumbledore's aspirations. Dumbledore had sealed the Potter’s Will. He claimed at the time it was for the boys safety or some such rubbish. More likely the Will would have made it plain that the old man had no right to whisk the boy away at all. So he, Fudge, was going to have the Will unsealed. And reveal to everyone the depth of Dumbledore’s lies.

Yes, it was a great week for Cornelius Fudge.

“Feed my children.” Aragog clacked as he rose back towards his nest. “Feed.” A thousand spiders, clicking their pincers together in a cacophony of horror, swarmed towards the two boys.

Draco Malfoy awoke screaming. It had been as though he were there with Potter and the Weasel. Walking through the darkened forest, nothing to protect them but foolish dreams and a cloak that would never fool an animal.

And looking into the eyes of a spider larger than they were. Gryffindor’s certainly earned their title of bravest house. But they equally earned their sneering nickname, given to them by Slytherin house, most foolish.

Turning to rise from his bed, Draco paused, overtaken by an urge to check under his bed for the first time since before he had gone to Hogwarts for his first year. The vast number of spiders in that clearing had done a number on him. He was suddenly hyper aware of the room and everything in it. Thus he realised he had done a silly thing. He had draped his cloak over the chair at his desk when he came in last night. Now in the shadows of the room, lit only by the house lights streaming in through his window. It looked like a man was hunched over his desk. If Draco squinted, it almost looked like someone was seated there, writing something.

He shook himself to clear the image from his mind. Those dreams were starting to get to him.

33 Nine Elms Lane was an enormous, elaborate building. In the late afternoon, three days after the letter had been shown to the Order, two people and a large black dog walked up to the gate and turned to the guard stationed there.

One of the three, a middle aged man by the look of him, spoke. “We were asked to tell you that the marauders sent us.” he said, in a low voice.

The guard raised an eyebrow, then reached for a radio at his hip. He mumbled into the radio briefly, then nodded to the man. “Someone will be here for you in a moment.” He said and returned to his watch.

A few seconds later the front door opened and a woman in a business skirt exited and approached. When she was a few paces away she stopped and lifted a set of photos, which she compared to the people at the gate, and then nodded. “This way.” She beckoned to them and turned back to the building.

Inside they were led to a small room on the upper floor where they were told to wait and someone would be with them shortly.

What followed was an extraordinary ordeal. They were questioned about their identities, they were questioned about their intentions. They were seperated, then brought back together, then separated again. They were asked the same questions, by six different people.

At the end, Remus Lupin was near breaking despite recognising the purpose behind it. They were kept waiting for several minutes between each round of questions, such that by the end they had been held for more than two hours. Which meant if they had been under the effects of polyjuice it was unlikely that they could have kept up the facade. The rounds of similar questions were meant to trick them into changing their answers, thus revealing any subterfuge. Basically, the whole thing was intended to make sure they weren’t a threat. It was still annoying.

Sirius Black had been pushed into changing back to his human form before the questioning had begun. His temer, always close to the surface, was being pushed to the very limit of his ability to keep it in check. However, he had been assured that once this process was finished, which would take a few hours, he would be reunited with his godson, and able to live free. So he was holding in the explosion that wanted out.

Hermione Granger, found that even her prodigious ability to ignore annoyance and hold her temper was being tested to its utmost. At least no one had tried to manhandle her, and there had been no invasive searches. Not that she was carrying anything that she wouldn’t want them to know about, that would just be awkward. Fortunately, she felt that it was surely almost over, of course, she’d felt that way for the last fifteen minutes, so maybe she was just being hopeful.

The next person who entered the room sat down at the long table and motioned for them to sit across from him. When they had done so, he smiled and pulled out a sheet of paper from a file. “I have here three questions, which Mister Potter requested I ask of you. Depending on your answers, things can go a few ways from here, but we’ll worry about that after. So, to begin.” He turned to Remus. “What creature sat in the corner of your office the first time you discussed werewolves with Harry Potter?”

Remus blinked at the man, then scowled in concentration. “We weren’t in my office the first time we spoke of werewolves. We were in the classroom. Though at that time, there was a hinkypunk in my office. I don’t recall any creatures in the classroom with us,” he grinned, “unless you count the students.”

Sirius chuckled at that, and Hermione shot him a scowl.

The man nodded and turned to Sirius. “What did you say to Mister Potter when he tried to kill you?”

“When he..?” Sirius began then halted. He too, scowled, concentrating. A scene resolved itself slowly in his mind. The Shack, Harry standing over him, a wand pointed at his heart. He looked up at the man across from him. “Going to kill me Harry?” He said, trying to make his voice as raspy and dry as it had been that night.

A small grin flashed across the man’s lips, fading as fast as it had come, as he turned to Hermione. “And Miss Granger, what books did you recommend Harry read, the first time you met him?”

Hermione scrunched up her face and chewed on her lower lip for several seconds. “Umm, I don’t think I recommended any books that time. We met on the train, our first time to Hogwarts. When he introduced himself, I mentioned that I had read all about him in Modern Magical History, The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts, and Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century. We also spoke briefly of Trevor, Neville’s toad. I told him that it was a surprise when I got my letter, and that I had learned all our set books off by heart. But I don’t recall recommending any reading to him.” She looked a question at the man.

This time the man’s smile was broad and clear. “Yes, that’s correct Hermione.” There was something odd about his voice though. It had changed somehow. Actually, all of him was changing. The hair that had been cut short when he entered the room was growing out, and in several directions. His eyes had been a dull brown, but were no almost glowing a vibrant green.

Harry Potter reached into a pocket and pulled out a new set of glasses, which he perched in place, and smiled at them. “Thanks for coming.” And he stood and opened his arms.

Three people ignored that there was a table between them and the reason they had come here. Forgot that there might have been cameras watching them. They simply dove across the intervening space to scoop the boy into a group hug that went on for what felt like days. They had been separated longer than any of them had truly been comfortable with.

For Sirius and Remus it had been years. More than a decade really. Despite Remus having taught at Hogwarts, and Sirius having met him in the shack.

Remus had been a teacher and forced by professionalism to maintain some distance from Harry. And the short meeting at the end of Harry’s third year could not even begin to make up for the decade long absence in Sirius’ mind.

For Hermione, it was odd. She had been separated from Harry for longer than this summer in the past. In fact, it had been longer every summer, and of course all of her life prior to Hogwarts. But somehow, this summer had felt like it had dragged on and on and on. Mostly due to the dreams of the last few days, which made getting any real sleep difficult at best.

Speaking of, she wanted answers. “Harry.” She exclaimed, stepping back and slapping him on the arm. “What did you do? Why are we dreaming about you?” She decided to add a pout to show that she was hurting but still listening. She wasn’t sure if it worked, as Harry looked pained.

Just as she was about to reach out to reassure him, he started to speak. “It was sort of an accident.” He said, then motioned to the table and the abandoned seats. Sirius was having none of that though and instead drug the boy over to a sofa and pulled him down onto it, where they were quickly joined by Remus, and after a moment’s hesitation, Hermione.

“Go on Harry.” Sirius said when they were all seated. “Tell us what happened.”

Harry swallowed loudly and nodded. “I found the spells when we were searching for stuff for the last task.” He nodded to Hermione. “But it was more than just spells, and most of it was stuff that would get around the trace. Like potions.”

Sirius and Remus shared a grin. Sirius ruffled Harry’s hair, which earned him a glare from the boy. “That’s my godson, finding ways around the rules, just like we did.”

“Yes Pads, I imagine James is doing a dance right now.” Remus added, earning a scowl from Sirius.

“Harry, please continue.” Hermione remarked pointedly, glaring at both men.

Harry smiled warmly at the girl and continued. “So, when I got home, I was considering options. I thought for a long time, about turning uncle Vernon into a hamster. Or Dudley into a rabbit. I even considered adding compulsion draughts to their morning tea, and making them be nice to me. But I figured that would be too weird, too noticeable. So I scratched those ideas, and decided to just wait it out.”

He drew in a deep breath as though steeling himself for something difficult. Then he reached out and took hold of Hermione’s hand. “Then I got letters from you and Ron. Both of you said you knew things you weren’t telling me, and I got really angry.” He was staring into her eyes now, seeming to want her to understand something. And his grip was firm, preventing her from running away, not that she had planned on doing so. “The next letter made it worse, the anger I mean. When you made it clear that the two of you were together, and I was being left out. Dumbledore apparently decreed that I wasn’t allowed to be with my friends for some reason.”

“He seems to think that Voldemort cannot touch you at the Dursleys.” Remus said offhandedly.

Harry glared at the man, but his face softened quickly. “That would explain it.” Harry commented, then went back to his story. “So, I was angry. I did something that I probably shouldn’t have done. You know,” he grinned at Hermione, “acting without thinking.” He added a squeeze of her hand for good measure, and she smiled back.

“You always do that.” She admonished.

“I pulled out my potions kit and got to brewing. It took a couple of days to get it right. But I made a potion that would transfer my memories into dreams that would be had by anyone who read the letter, it just had to be infused in the ink and paper. It would then slowly waft out, airborne if you see. Then I made another for the Dursleys, it was a bit stronger, and it went into their tea.” He ducked his head sheepishly. “I kind of overpowered that one. They slept for three days, apparently dreaming every terrible thing that ever happened to me, and when they woke up they couldn’t talk about anything else. They’re currently in hospital, the doctors say they think Dudley will recover in a few months and be able to return to his life. Uncle Vernon and aunt Petunia may recover as well, they aren’t quite as sure, but when they do, they’ll both be going to mental hospital. Possibly for a very long time. Apparently they’ve been telling the hospital staff all about how they locked me in a cupboard for ten years, and let their son beat me to a pulp every other day. I was told they would face prison time, except they are now unhinged, so instead they’ll go to a special hospital.”

Harry paused to take a breath and look around at his audience. They were watching him carefully, possibly wondering if something similar would happen to them.

“Don’t worry, that only happened because I put too much in their drinks. It can’t happen with the letter version, and it should wear off in another day or two.” He reassured them, and all three let out little sighs of relief. Apparently it had been worrying them.

“I don’t know how it transferred to the newspaper though. I’ve been trying to figure that out.” He ran a hand through his hair in frustration.

“I can answer that.” Remus offered, and receiving nods from everyone he did so. “When they get a letter they want to reprint in the paper they magically copy the original into the paper. So they transferred the ink you used onto every issue.”

“So they did it, by transferring it in that way, the potion was able to travel to everyone who read it.” Sirius said in a conspiratorial tone.

“Would they even have to read it?” Hermione asked. “I mean, if the effect was meant to be airborne, to waft off the page, as Harry put it, wouldn’t it be enough for the paper to just be near them?”

Harry waggled a hand side to side. “Sort of, it depends on how long they were near it. The wording of the letter cements what images you see, without it, you just get vague nightmares, which you may or may not remember properly. Also, it takes more exposure to start if you don’t read the letter. Although the really bad part is that I wasn’t able to cast the spells on it. There’s a series of spells that help limit what images get transferred and how fast, and how it affects sleep. If I’d been able to use those without setting off the trace, I could have prevented it from affecting your ability to get a full night's sleep. That’s one of the things I didn’t think about when I was brewing. I was too focused on how angry I was.”

“Can you do them now?” Hermione asked.

“Nope, I can mitigate the effects.” He began, but was cut off.

“Ooh, mitigate, that’s a big word.” Sirius teased.

Harry scowled at his godfather. “I learned it from one of the people here.” He shrugged. “I can’t turn it off, but I can add the element that allows you to sleep through it.”

Remus cocked his head to one side, and asked. “Can anyone cast the spell? It would be nice if we could send the details to Molly, to help the other kids.”

“No, sorry.” Harry shook his head. “Only the person from whom the memories come can cast the spell and have it work. If anyone else tries, it will only make it worse.”


	9. Chapter 9

The Chamber was just as he remembered it. Dark, foreboding, and enormous. What was not as he remembered was the small red haired girl clutching his diary. Or the messy haired boy who defiantly argued with his younger self.

He hadn’t expected the bit of his soul in the diary to attempt to form a new body for itself. When he created his first horcrux, he had intended for it to possess anyone who wrote in it, and force them to open the Chamber and release the basilisk he had bred in his fifth year. But that was all.

That it had gone well beyond that was a surprise. And now it was standing off against his vanquisher, his nemesis. Harry Potter, stood there like all the heroes of old, wandless, weaponless, and yet still defiant, still with his head high. The very idea made Voldemort’s blood run cold. This was the kind of person who could defeat him. This was the very spirit that had allowed James Potter, and others like him to survive against Voldemort time and time again.

He had tried, oh how he had tried, to stamp this sort of spirit from his followers, and everyone else. But all it would take was just one person with this sort of defiance to discover his most important secret, and he would be lost. Did not these people understand that he was the single most important person to ever exist. That all of them, every one, was nothing more than an entertainment for his pleasure.

He had learned early, in the orphanage that other people were irrelevant. A few had tricked him into thinking they would be friends, only to turn on him as soon as his guard was down. He soon taught them their place, once he had control of his powers. His magic, that made him better, far above the pitiful worming fools that thought themselves better simply because they had known family.

And then came Hogwarts. It was in some ways both better and worse than the orphanage. There he had been recognised for his brilliance, for his ability. Yet there were still those who thought themselves his betters. In his first few days he had been approached by his classmates for friendship. Offers he had gladly accepted, but then came that night. He and three others had been led out to the edge of the forest.

They were stripped and beaten badly, by those who had called themselves friends. Called worthless, filthy, and less savory names. Told that they were nothing in the house of snakes, and that they had to learn their place, at the feet of their betters. The purebloods, who would spit on them, use them for whatever they liked, and they would accept it as their due.

That night Tom Riddle abandoned all interest in the well-being, or interests of others. He knew from cold experience that no one would ever stand for him, would ever be a person worthy of his care. And so he went in search of power, real power, with which he could slap down those fools who thought themselves above him, again.

He had hidden his past, his heritage, until he discovered the link to Salazar Slytherin. It was tenuous at best, and required proof. So he searched for the Chamber, and he found it. And with it, so much more. In that place he learned the secrets of breeding his greatest tool, the basilisk that would wipe his enemies from the earth with a look. The spells that would strike fear into the hearts of anyone who saw him, allowing him to leave behind the mortal frame which connected him to others. And even the magic which when applied correctly would grant him the bliss of everlasting life.

With these in hand, he cowed the house of his ancestor, and brought them to heel. Those arrogant, good for nothing purebloods were made to bow and scrape at his feet. The very place they had once claimed was all he could ever aspire to. Then a plan began to form. He would wipe out their culture, their vaunted traditions, and every scrap of their history. He would do it slowly, so that only the most intelligent and watchful among them would notice before it was too late. And best of all, he would get them to do all the work for him.

He laughed when he was offered a place in the Ministry, that would not serve his purpose at all. He needed a war, he needed violence to achieve his goals. But first, he needed to be certain that he would survive. The only way to be sure was to split himself so much that no one could hope to find them all. So he went in search of treasures, artifacts worthy to hold a piece of the greatest wizard of all time.

When he had found what he needed, and insured himself against attack, he returned and began his campaign. He called up his old housemates, and using the influence he had created within them at school, forced them to obey. He hid his treasures, carefully, and sent his troops out to begin the process of destroying their own world.

Oh he claimed it was to “cleanse” the world of the muggle taint, but those were just pretty words he used to convince the ignorant purebloods. His classmates quickly figured out what he had been planning, much to his annoyance, they became rebellious, and had to be dealt with. They died, slowly, and all in ways that were easily put down to accidents, or the efforts of their enemies. And their children, he discovered, hadn’t been told of the findings of their fathers.

And thus the death eaters were born. A band of ignorant fools serving a master who sought their destruction.

It was fortunate that his younger self revealed none of that to Potter. Though he had revealed a few secrets that he would have preferred none of his followers knew. His muggle father would be an obstacle for him to overcome, though perhaps he could use the fact that he was revived by an ancient ritual to overshadow that fact. Most of his current followers were not only fools, but also insane, to one degree or another. Certainly only Bellatrix took it as far as to be easily recognised, but all of them carried a degree of that madness.

Voldemort opened his eyes, smiling. His smile grew as he thought of the rounds of cruciatus his followers would have to undergo before they agreed never to speak of what they had seen in that vision.

Miles away, in the village of Hogsmeade, Madame Rosmerta woke screaming as a fang pierced the arm of Harry Potter. This was the final straw for her.

She had been willing to accept that the boy had been abused on the notion that Dumbledore hadn’t known. She’d even accepted that the danger the boy had been in during his first year had all been a fluke. A combination of rash decisions and the boy’s own poor judgement. But that a twelve year old had to go down into that place and face a threat of that magnitude, with no help from any adult, was the worst.

She had seen, and she wasn’t alone, through the course of the visions from that year, that Albus knew of the Chamber, knew who had opened it, had actually been present during the original opening. And the man had done nothing. He had not lifted a single finger to help the students. The arrest of Hagrid who had clearly not been involved, had been allowed without complaint. A token, “I don’t believe this will help,” was meaningless. Albus was the Chief Warlock, he had the authority to overrule the Minister on that but he chose to stand aside and allow the man to be arrested without even being charged.

The entire school turned against the boy, and again, Albus did nothing. Rosmerta could understand their fear, and of course, they were children, they wouldn’t know any better. But the adults should have stepped in and stopped it.

Even with the old man’s removal from the school, he could have shared what he knew with the staff, and ended the attacks much sooner. Instead he left it to a second year to solve the problem.

Dressing quickly she headed for her floo, there were people to talk to. The Ministry might be unassailable for an individual, but with enough people to back her, she would have her say. And if things went well, two people would be looking for new jobs come this time tomorrow.

In a manor house in the Italian countryside, Blaise Zabini woke with a start. The dream he’d been having had been quite vivid. And if he hadn’t recognised the young boy in it as Harry potter, he would have thought it one of his own nightmares. His second father had been like Harry’s uncle, and the dream had brought up memories of that time.

He’d almost sung with praise of his mother when he walked in on her dropping some electrical device into the man’s bathtub. For thirty seconds the man had screamed in panic, and then in pain. And Blaise had cheered, knowing he would never be struck by that man again, nor locked away in a closet, nor denied dinner. He had hugged his mother and asked when they would be leaving for Italy again.

But for Harry Potter, there had been no escape. No mother to save him. For Harry Potter, that had been his life. Hogwarts would have seemed like an escape at first he thought. The school would have been a symbol of freedom. No Dursleys there, and the chance to practice his magic, to learn, to grow, to get actual meals.

Only when he got there, there had been no freedom. He’d met Draco Malfoy almost immediately, and that poncy little prat had begun bullying Potter the moment they met. Based on what he’d seen of Potter’s life, Blaise was a little confused as to why the boy hadn’t gone to Slytherin, but perhaps his reckless behavior was an explanation. Not all kids react to abuse by becoming sly.

For a moment, Blaise considered all the rumors he’d heard at the school, about Potter’s adventures. If even half of them were true, not only was Hogwarts not an escape from his abuse, it was a haven for abusers, at least from Potter’s perspective.

Resolving to discuss the matter with his mother, he rose from his bed. Mother always had a response, and would know the best way to go about doing something to improve Potter’s conditions without revealing that they had been involved at all.


	10. Chapter 10

Public Demands Arrest  
Special Report by Daniel Cartwright Ministry Correspondent

Yesterday, a crowd gathered in the Ministry Atrium, surrounding the Fountain of Magical Brethren. Not in itself unusual, as the Fountain is often crowded of a morning. However, this crowd was itself quite different from the norm. This was a crowd of angry citizens demanding the arrest and investigation into the actions of, both Headmaster Albus Dumbledore, for his part in the suffering we have been witness to, of Harry Potter, as well as our illustrious Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge. In the case of Minister Fudge, the outcry against him seemed to be focused on the glimpse of his actions regarding the opening of the Chamber of Secrets. 

As we all have witnessed, due to the dream visions sent to us by Harry Potter, during the crisis at Hogwarts, Minister Fudge did nothing directly to aid the students or staff of the school, he actually arrested a man, which he does not have the legal authority to do, and what’s more, he had the man carted off to Azkaban without trial, and indeed without any actual charges against him.

This is a serious overstep of the Minister’s position and authority. Certainly he could have sent the Auror’s to investigate. And that is what he should have done, yet not even when he appeared on the grounds to affect the arrest of someone he considered to be dangerous did he have Aurors with him. Did he perhaps not want someone who would both point out the illegality of his actions, and have the authority to stop him, on hand?

The case against Dumbledore is somehow both more clear cut, and more complicated. The Headmaster normally has no authority to interfere with the lives of students outside of the school. Yet Albus Dumbledore seems to have thought it his personal mission to insure that Harry Potter had no childhood.

The Last Will of James and Lilly Potter was sealed by Chief Warlock Albus Dumbledore. For what reason? He claims it was for the boy’s safety, yet what safety can be had by preventing a child from receiving their inheritance? More to the point, what safety did Harry Potter experience?

As the Will was sealed, we do not know who James and Lilly asked to be their executor, Dumbledore certainly has claimed that role, but was it he they asked? Harry was removed from his home before his parents bodies had even cooled, and was placed immediately with his mother’s sister.

Regardless of what we have all seen in the dream visions, a quick investigation revealed that Lilly Potter was often heard to speak of her sister in scathing tones. In fact every person I could find that had spoken with Lilly about her sister had the same thing to say.

“Lilly often commented that Petunia was the reason the statute of secrecy exists. Well, her and others like her. Petunia hated magic, and everyone magical. She (Lilly) would be appalled at the idea that her son was sent to live with her.”

A powerful statement. And yet into that environment is where Albus Dumbledore sent the Boy Who Lived.

Clear cut case of injustice. Yet, were any of his actions actually illegal? It certainly appears that many of them should be, however a deeper investigation reveals that he had himself declared the boy’s magical guardian, which grants him certain rights with regards to the boy’s upbringing.

Certainly there are many who would claim that Dumbledore failed in the responsibility he took upon himself, yet there is no legal requirement that a child live with their magical guardian. Nor of what said guardian teaches the child. Perhaps the Department of Magical Law Enforcement will be able to find something, or perhaps the Wizengamot will take this as an opportunity to enact new laws.

Regardless of what actions are taken, we can be certain that the public is displeased with the current course of nothing.

Lucius Malfoy lowered the paper, unsure of whether he wanted to smile smugly at Dumbledore’s trouble, or scowl at the probable loss of such an easily controlled Minister. 

He sipped his morning tea, contemplating the events of the last few days. The Dark Lord had been in a towering rage, hitting nearly every death eater with a cruciatus curse before speaking. And demanding their silence on what they had seen in the dreams.

That was something Lucius was very interested in. Not the content, little of that had been surprising really. In retrospect he had seen all the signs, and felt a little ache of glee that the brat had been so mistreated. No wonder the child had sought to free Dobby, he must have felt a kinship with the wretched elf.

No it was the method that interested Lucius. How it was done. Like his father before him, Lucius had studied much, delving into the dark arts, where he heard rumors of an art which could send dreams to others. But he’d never found more than rumor of it. Potter, it seemed, had found much more.

And used it well. The whole country now knew the truth of the Dark Lord’s heritage, something Lucius wished he had known before he had joined. Not that it would have made a difference. His father had brought him before the half-blood over the Yule break in his sixth year at Hogwarts, and forced him to take the mark.

Oh, he’d joined in the raids happily enough. Torture and murder had quickly become his pastimes, though he preferred subtler means. But to do such things at the behest of one so limited as to cause as much suffering among his followers as to his enemies was something Lucius would feel shame over for the rest of his life.

The Dark Lord had never seen his people as his equals, nor even as a Lord should, as valued and protected servants. No he had seen them as chattel, to be used and thrown away as he liked. And that was not a Lord Lucius wished to follow.

Dolores Umbridge was seething. She had finally been allowed to take the Dark Mark, a wish she’d had since her own days at Hogwarts, and now that wretched boy was attacking her Lord. Between herself and Lucius, fine man, they’d convinced the imbecile Fudge to appoint her as the next defence teacher at the school. She had a curriculum worked out that her Lord approved, the students would learn nothing useful, making them easy targets for her fellow Death Eaters.

But now, Fudge was being ousted. All of his decisions were being investigated. And it looked like it was only a matter of time before they turned over the less savory appointments he’d made. She was going to have to jump through several hoops just to keep her position as senior undersecretary.

And on top of all that, she’d been cursed three times by her Lord. Once on principal apparently, just because they’d all seen the dream of Potter being told about the Dark Lord’s history. Though she actually agreed with the reasoning, it was important to keep such secrets, well, secret. She had gone quite a distance herself to ensure that no one ever found out that she was in fact, a half-bood.

“Morning family.” She called as she passed the terrarium of rats in the hallway. She allowed a small smile, it was always heartening to pass by that terrarium. Her father, brother, and mother, were all lodged inside, along with a few other specimens.

It had been a chore to catch all of them, and then permanently transfigure them into rodents. But she’d done it, and now there was no evidence left for anyone to find that she wasn’t the pureblood she pretended to be. Well, except the birth records, but she didn’t have access to those. Fortunately, hardly anyone ever bothered to check.

She sat down to breakfast, picking up the morning Prophet, only to scream in outrage at the latest headline.


	11. Chapter 11

“So what are we doing?” Remus asked, holding up yet another shirt and tie set for the other men’s approval.

“We’re making you look presentable Mooney.” Sirius answered with a grin.

Remus threw the tie at his friend. “You know what I meant Padfoot.”

Harry did his best to control his bubbling laughter. His ribs were aching, having watched this back and forth for the last ten minutes. It felt so good to laugh, the only thing that could have made it better would be if Hermione had been able to share it. Unfortunately, she had been dragged off for her own dressing room, by one of the ladies at the embassy.

“We're waiting for the paperwork to finish processing.” He managed to gasp out between chuckles. “And dressing for a meeting with the diplomats while we’re at it.” He motioned to the wardrobe that had been brought in special for them.

“Well then, why am I the only one dressing?” The werewolf asked, putting on a little pout. He knew the answer, it had been his idea for each of them to dress separately, getting each others permission for each article, so they could all look their best.

“Because we all need to look our best for the meeting with the Ambassador from the Magical Congress of the United States. They aren’t going to grant you and Harry refuge status, and me a fair trial, if we go in looking like vagrants.”

Harry, laughing again, this time at the put out look on Remus face, pointed from Sirius to Remus, nodding. “Your words Remus, your words.” He squeezed out around guffaws.

Remus frowned and threw the shirt at Harry. Then he sniffed, just like a crying child, dropped his face into his hands and turned back to the wardrobe. “I can’t help it.” He cried, with a dismal attempt at faking tears in his voice. “I’m just so pitiful and ugly.”

Now Sirius joined Harry, adding his own howls of laughter to the riot on the sofa. He half-heartedly threw a cushion at the man, but it fell short of his target, who was rummaging around inside for another option.

When Remus turned back to them, he blinked at the cushion lying on the floor at his feet. Then peered up at the two men on the sofa. “Really Pads? You still haven’t learned to throw?”

Harry fell into a wheezing laugh, still unable to catch his breath. He attempted to gasp out a reply, both men now watching him with concern, but all that managed to come out was, “you, he, catch.” Which obviously, made no sense to anyone.

Sirius leaned over and laid a calming hand on Harry’s back. “It’s okay, calm down there Harry.” He tried to sound as calm as possible, but the slight chuckle that leaked out, sent Harry tumbling into more breathless chuckles.

“I don’t think you’re helping Pads.” Remus commented through his own grin.

Down the hall, in a similar room, Hermione sat down with the aide that had been assigned to her. Having selected her own suit for the meeting already, she was interested in other matters.

“So, how is this going to work again?” She asked the tall blonde woman sat next to her. “The boys aren’t exactly eloquent.”

The blonde smiled warmly. “Boys rarely are in my experience.” She offered conspiratorially. “Well, the process is simple enough. We already have all the evidence we need. So we’re down to the final meeting with the ambassador. You’ll just explain your case, the reasons you’re asking for political asylum in the U.S., he’ll agree.” She paused at the worried look on Hermione’s face. “Don’t worry, this part is a formality. All the important decision making has already been done. The only way you can change the outcome now is if you suddenly change your story, or decide to cancel the request.” She waited for a moment, for Hermione to nod her understanding, then returned to her original explanation.

“After he agrees, hands get shaken, then the four of you will board a chopper and be flown out to the Eisenhower, which is anchored just off shore.” She clasped Hermione’s hands which were shaking. “From there you’ll have a week onboard to get to the States, then onto another chopper which will take you to Washington D.C. where you’ll do your final paperwork. That will probably take a day, maybe two. A lot of it will actually be finished up on the Eisenhower, so it will just be the last few bits, and getting everything filed. Your parents have already been contacted, and have agreed, they will meet you there in a month. Apparently, that was the quickest they could pack up their practice.”

Hermione managed a small chuckle. “They have a lot of clients. At least the wizards won’t be watching them.”

The blonde smiled. “Probably not, but if they are it will look like they are being bought out and moving of their own accord. It will take more digging than most wizards are even aware of to find the real story.”

“How long before we can apply for citizenship? Or do we actually need to?” Hermione chewed on her lower lip as she asked.

“Since you’re taking political asylum, you can apply immediately.” She raised an eyebrow and smirked. “However, I would recommend waiting at least six months. That will give you the time to get to know the country, and decide if it really is where you want to live from now on.”

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief when she met the boys on the way to the meeting with the ambassador. She had envisioned them in bright neon robes, or gaudy track suits, and worked herself into a right state, before she’d calmed and reminded herself that they had an advisor to help them select something suitable, just as she had. The boys looked quite put together for a change, and somehow, even Harry’s indiscriminately messy hair had been tamed for the occasion.

The meeting went rather well, with Harry doing most of the talking. Hermione only had to add her agreement in a few places. While Sirius and Remus added a few clarifying bits where they knew things she and Harry did not.

“So, tell me why you are seeking asylum away from your country of birth.” The ambassador asked as they sat down.

All eyes turned to Harry, as this was initially his decision. Harry nodded solemnly, and began the tale.

“Well, it starts I guess, with my first year at Hogwarts.” He began.

It was not short, all together the tale took almost an hour to tell. Beginning with the letters that never stopped until Hagrid arrived. Then the announcement of the forbidden corridor. Fluffy, the obstacles “guarding” the Philosopher’s Stone. Which during the retelling on the second day here, Hermione had experienced an epiphany about. 

She had expected Remus and Sirius to throw a fit over what they had done, or at least the danger they had faced. But they cheered as the story was laid out. Later they had explained that the only dangerous part had been the chess set and the troll, both of which they handled admirably, apart from Ron being knocked out. And that the only part that actually scared them was when Harry confronted Voldemort, alone.

All the “traps” were readily handled by first years, including a muggle-born, a muggle-raised, and a lazy boy with no real ambition or drive. What they had considered deadly protection at eleven, from this side of fifteen, looked like first or second year defence trials.

She looked up from her consideration as Harry began discussing their second year. She wondered for a moment if she should have mentioned her thoughts, but discarded the idea. She had mentioned them to others, including Harry and the adults. So if it was considered important, he would have added it to his explanation.

The story of second year, sounded more horrible from the outside than it had been to live it. The house elf that kept trying to kill Harry in order to save his life. The flying car which rescued him three times, even if one of those had been unnecessary. The whomping willow, beating the car half to death, with he and Ron inside. Snape’s threats, Dumbledore’s warning, missing the sorting, which seemed like such a small detail to include.

Then the petrifications began. Mrs. Norris, Colin Creevey, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Sir Nicholas, Herself and Penelope Clearwater. It had been scary at the time, but from outside, it really did sound worse, because there wasn’t the day to day drudge of classes and homework, and bullies to distract from it.

Harry being persecuted was almost funny in retrospect. She knew even then that it hadn’t been him, but looking back, she could almost see why others had leapt to that conclusion, but then she thought about what she knew of Harry. His kindness to everyone, his acceptance of anyone who at least didn’t bully him or try to make him out to be some great hero. And she had to fight down a laugh.

The acromantula story had been terrifying the first time, and Remus and Sirius had spent a day regularly checking that Harry was still there after hearing it, but now they had gone over it several times, so it flowed out easily. At least the car saving them was a spot of humour at the end, to lighten the mood.

Then it was the final moments. Discovering that the creature was a basilisk, realizing that Myrtle had been the last victim. Finding the entrance. Lockhart’s betrayal, and the fight against Riddle and the snake. Hermione was tempted to hide her face, but held herself up in solidarity with Harry.

Then it was time for the real trouble. Not that the basilisk hadn’t been a threat, it had just been a more diffuse threat. Kind of for everyone, rather than targeting Harry. But in third year, they had spent most of their time under the mistaken assumption that Sirius had been after her best friend.

Then the discovery that he had been sent to prison without trial, betrayed by one of his closest friends. It was almost as though Ron had betrayed her and Harry.

And the final betrayal of that year, though it had taken more than a year to realize it. Dumbledore claimed that he could do nothing to clear Sirius’ name. As Chief Warlock, he most certainly could. But neither Harry nor Hermione had thought about that until the last couple of days. During their copious free time, they had browsed through the library here at the embassy, which included many books on laws and customs of the British magical society. 

In one of these Hermione had found a complete listing of the powers and authorities of the various positions within the Ministry. Not only did Albus Dumbledore have the power to grant Sirius a trial, with or without the agreement of the Minister, he actually was required to do so. The Minister had several times claimed powers and authorities in Harry’s hearing that he did not have. Which was cause for an immediate expulsion from his position, which Dumbledore was required by his own position to enforce, he never had.

That discovery had led to a rather frank discussion of the realities of politics. Backroom deals, bribes, and the quid pro quo attitude of the wizengamot. Which allowed people to get away with things which were blatantly illegal, so long as they continued to line certain pockets, or look the other way from other people's crimes.

Fourth year, and the tournament was almost a joke by now. The near ease with which Harry had dominated the tasks made the whole affair easy to laugh at. Even if she had been chewing her nails to pieces at that time. She’d nearly wet herself when the horntail had been brought out to the enclosure where Harry would be forced to steal an egg from it.

She’d actually agreed to be a hostage in the second task, just so she wouldn’t have to watch and worry. It had been rather relaxing in the enchanted sleep beneath the lake. No fear, no worries, until her head had broken the surface, bringing her back to consciousness.

And the maze, the fact that she hadn’t been able to see what was happening was both a blessing and a curse. While she hadn’t had to watch the danger her best friend had been in, she had spent the entire time thinking of terrible situations, or even more horrible creatures that he was facing. Though admittedly, none of what she had imagined had even come close to the real threat of that night.

And finally, the Minister’s reaction to the news of Voldemort’s return. The Prophet printing lies about Harry, and Dumbledore. Though she was less concerned with the lies about Dumbledore now. And the decision to flee the country.

With the story told, she felt a bit wrung out, despite having contributed very little herself. She couldn’t imagine how Harry was feeling, but he looked like he was holding up well. His head was still high, and he had that look he got, the same one he had before the dragon. The look that said he wasn’t happy, but he was going to do whatever needed doing, and he was going to come out on top.

After a moment of silence, the Ambassador nodded. “That is quite a story. And I agree completely that it merits your immediate removal from Britain. We have a chopper waiting on the roof to take you to the first stage of that journey. There are a few other things which will need to be cleared up along the way, but I trust they will not take long. Samuel will show you the way.” He gestured to the brown haired aide who had stood so quietly at the back of the room that Hermione hadn’t even noticed him. “I doubt that we will see each other again, but rest assured there will be others who will help you along the way. So, as we are parting here, I wish you all the best of luck in your new lives.”

He stood and offered his hand to each of them in turn, along with a small bow and a warm smile. While affected, Hermione thought it felt genuine, as though the man understood far more than they did, and was not looking forward to the work ahead, but did hope that things would be better for the four of them.


	12. Chapter 12

Chief Warlock, Minister for Magic, Convicted, Investigation of Corruption Begun.

The headline knocked more than a few people off their feet.

The article described the courtroom drama in gritty detail. How the Chief Warlock, Albus Dumbledore had used his power and influence to seal the last Will of the Potter family and secret the Boy Who Lived away in a muggle home. A home he knew to be against the Potter’s wishes, and expected to be abusive. How he had known for years that Harry Potter had been being systematically abused within that home and had done nothing. How he had set up several dangerous situations in order to test the boy, and assure himself that the child would willingly walk into deadly circumstances with little or no information. Though they had been unable to glean his reasons for doing so.

Next it explained that Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge had been found guilty on multiple counts of misuse of authority. Proof was given of his bribes to the Daily Prophet, ensuring that they would print only what he wanted them to print. Then followed that with proof of bribes paid to him. Some to keep him quiet about the return of You Know Who, others for his backing of various laws which had made it easier for accused death eaters to walk free, and continue their unlawful activities.

Finally, there were several comments from the common folk on the need for a full investigation to ensure that no further tampering with the legal process would occur. Amelia Bones went on record, announcing that such an investigation was already underway, and that she had warrants out for the arrest of several prominent figures, based on the bribes they had paid to Fudge, and a few others.

“Well, recruiting for the Order is going to be easier.” Charlie Weasley commented, folding the newspaper and offering it to his youngest brother. “Here Ron, if you wanted to read it too.”

Ron took the paper in a dejected hand and laid it beside his breakfast plate. The plate was piled high with eggs and bacon, but it remained untouched as Ron simply stared at the table. He’d been like this for two days now. Barely touching food, and generally ignoring whatever was happening around him.

He wasn’t alone either. Most of the remaining Order had similar expressions. When Dumbledore had been arrested they had been halfway through third year in the dreams. When the trial started they’d just begun fourth year.

Moody had thrown a fit and walked out after reliving Dumbledore telling Harry that he could do nothing for Sirius. He had explained, gruffly, that Albus had lied to Harry, that as Chief Warlock he most certainly could. And that he would no longer follow a man who would place a child in that much danger for no apparent reason.

That was only the beginning, within three days of that announcement, all the Aurors, current or retired, had left. Most of Albus’ old friends, such as Daedulus Diggle, left shortly after them. And now, only those who had known Harry personally, namely the Weasley’s were still holding onto the idea at all.

Before the trial had ended though, they had wrung all the stories of the Golden Trio out of Ron, and they had all agreed that Dumbledore was getting his just desserts. Even if they were also terrified of what that would mean for the war effort. Dumbledore had been the glue that had held them together. Without him, none of them knew what to do.

“I don’t think we’ll be doing any recruiting Charlie.” Arthur said flatly, reaching for a bread roll. “The Order was Dumbledore’s idea, his baby. Without him, it just doesn’t work.”

“But surely there’s something we can do?” George asked.

“Yeah, we can't just give up.” Fred added.

Molly tried to smile at her children, but the expression was pained. “We aren’t giving up dears. We just need to rethink our involvement. Maybe it’s time to consider a move Arthur?” She turned to her husband with a hopeful expression.

“Maybe,” he smiled up at her, “but where would we move to?”

The discussion stretched long into the evening, jumping from moving in with cousins in other countries, to possible war plans. However, with no clear information on what was happening, no decision was able to be made. And eventually they all grew tired enough that it was put off, and everyone was shuffled off to bed.

In the morning, their answer was waiting in the Daily Prophet.

Boy Who Lived Flees Country.

The article was brief despite the eye-catching headline, explaining that Harry Potter and an unnamed associate had been witnessed leaving the U.S. Embassy in London and boarding a muggle helicopter. Subsequent investigation revealed that he had sought and been granted political asylum from the persecution of the Ministry, and the attacks of You Know Who.

Two Aurors, Nymphadora Tonks and Kingsley Shacklebolt, shared their thoughts on his decision. Stating that they could understand his choice, even if they would personally have done differently. Potter had been attacked several times by You Know Who, but had been ignored or laughed at when he attempted to warn others. In the last year he had been forced to compete in a tournament which was known to kill those much older and more experienced, then called a liar when he discovered who had placed his name in the Goblet of Fire, and why.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shortest chapter in this story! I feel so very accomplished!
> 
> Seriously, I actually tried to find more that would fit in here. I failed, obviously. I found nothing I could add that wouldn't be rehashing, or just filler.
> 
> Still, I'm a little impressed with myself that I actually managed to get the entire idea for the chapter across in so few words. Usually I need two or three times this many just to round out the point, and then half again that to fill it out so the reading isn't just dry details.


	13. Chapter 13

“I blame you for this Dumbledore.” The small, round, balding form of Cornelius Fudge said, leaning against the bars of the holding cell he was locked inside. He looked somehow wrong without his customary lime green bowler hat. He glared across the room at where Albus Dumbledore sat in his own holding cell, also looking odd in the simple black and white striped prison robes. “Did you hear me, old man?”

The ancient looking grey head lifted slowly, watery blue eyes piercing Fudge. “I heard you Cornelius. And I would agree with you, if it were not for the fact that I had nothing to do with our current predicament. You were meant to maintain control of the Ministry. I gave you all the tools you would need.”

“All the tools I needed.” Fudge scoffed. “As if you could overcome the power of the people when they unite.”

“That was not my doing. You should have prevented the Prophet from printing that letter.” The old head bowed again.

“You know, you could at least call your damn phoenix to get us out of here.”

“I have already tried that.” Dumbledore let out a sigh of frustration. “Either he is no longer answering, or they have erected a ward against him.”

Fudge looked around for something to throw, seeing nothing for the thousandth time, he soothed himself by slapping at the bars. “You told me to hide his return. To call the boy a liar in the press. If I hadn’t done that the boy would not have reacted as he did. And we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

“We cannot know what would have happened Cornelius.” For once, Dumbledore sounded his age. He brought one shaky hand up to rub his face. “Perhaps I did push the boy too hard. It is too late to worry about that now. What remains is to salvage as much as possible.”

Fudge turned his glare once again upon the old man. “And how do you recommend we salvage this situation Dumbledore?” He barked. “We are ruined, our positions gone, our lifes in tatters. And we’re soon to be off to prison, always assuming they don’t dig any deeper and find anything else.”

Albus looked up, shooting a sharp look at the former Minister. “They have no reason to look deeper into our doings Cornelius. And as long as we remain silent, they won’t ever learn of one.”

As they glared at one another, a door at the far end of the room opened and two men stepped through, followed by a middle aged witch with a stern look. As the prisoners turned to look at the newcomers, the witch stepped forward glaring at them from behind her monocle.

“So, there’s more to find is there?” She said carefully. “Thank you for telling us.” She smiled at the soft sound of both men swearing under their breath. “I’d like to introduce you to inspector Duristace.” She indicated the man on her right. “He’s from the International Confederation of Wizards. He came to check our findings and confirm your convictions. With what we’ve just heard, I’ll be asking him to join me in further investigations to uncover more of your crimes.”

She and her two companions smiled coldly as they left. Fudge and Dumbledore were left swearing quietly in their cells.

Three days passed before Madame Amelia Bones returned. She said nothing merely directed the five Aurors that came with her. They hauled Fudge from his cell and out of the room. Dumbledore was then left alone again, to wait.

“Cornelius Fudge.” The voice sounded through the courtroom, larger and more intimidating than he expected. Certainly he had never managed to sound like that, the few times he had chosen to use this room. “You have already been found guilty of both accepting and paying bribes, misuse of your position, and overreach of your authority. We are here today to discuss further crimes that have been discovered since that trial. They are all in the same category, simply more of the same. Your plea is irrelevant, as we will not be bothering with another trial.”

Fudge slowly tuned out the looking around the room. It was full, the entire Wizengamot, plus a public audience. That was unusual, the Wizengamot did not normally allow public viewing of their deliberations. But apparently his humiliation was to be made fuel for public consumption. Perhaps they had insisted, certainly there had been demand recently for his head.

“Fudge!” The exclamation rang through the Chamber, clearly he had missed something important in his ruminations. He turned a questioning look to the speaker, noting the man’s annoyance. “Sit!” He pointed to the jet black chair in the center of the room.

Slowly, deliberately, Fudge shuffled to the chair and sat. Trying to project an air of calm acceptance, hoping that by his compliance he might at least gain some sympathy. It was unlikely that his sentence would be reduced, but he might at least get a nicer cell, or even be placed in a lower security wing, with fewer dementors.

“We have been told that you had private dealing with Albus Dumbledore concerning the person of Harry Potter. We have not been able to uncover any evidence of this beyond your own comments to Dumbledore, made in the last few days. You will elaborate upon these deals.”

Fudge blinked, he knew they had been careful about those discussions, but he hadn’t thought they had actually covered everything. If he hadn’t said anything they would never have learned. And now he was going to have it dragged out of him, if he refused they would force veritaserum on him, and he had no defence against that. If he refused, they would get it anyway, but if he gave them what they wanted, it might help him. Trying to keep the grin off his face, he lifted his head and began to speak.

“You must show Harry that he cannot trust the Ministry Cornelius.” Albus Dumbledore sat in his comfortable armchair in the Minister’s office, smiling warmly.

“But why Dumbledore?” Fudge asked huffily. “Surely we want the boy on our side.”

“No, if Harry trusts the Ministry he will come to you for help when the Dark Lord returns. That must be avoided.” Dumbledore narrowed his eyes at the Minister.

“But we could help him.” Fudge blustered.

“Cornelius, you know as well as I do, that the Dark Lords supporters have infiltrated every branch of the Ministry. It will fall before him like a house of cards.” He held up a hand in the face of Fudge’s instant rebuttal. “There is nothing we can do about that in the current climate. And if Harry were to come to such a group for assistance, he would be captured easily. And that is something we must avoid. It would strip the people of what little hope they have. The boy will die, and by the Dark Lord’s hand, have no worry there. I will make sure of it.”

Fudge guffawed at the old man. “How, Dumbledore, how can you be sure of that?”

“I will convince the boy that the Dark Lord can only be defeated if he gives himself over to be killed.” He silenced the Minister’s arguments with a glare. “Do not concern yourself with that, I will take care of it. There are more important things for you to worry about. As long as he lives, the people will look to the Boy Who Lived,” Albus sneered as he said the title, “to deal with the threat posed by the death eaters. Any successful assault on the Dark Lord will be attributed to him, regardless of who does it, or when. If we are to regain control of the populace, we must wait until after Harry Potter dies at the hand of the Dark Lord. then we can step in and deal with him, only then will the people again look to us to lead them.”

Albus lifted his head as the memory ended. Fudge had been sent to Azkaban two days ago, and this morning he had been dragged before the Wizengamot, and strapped into the seat of recall. An ancient tool that had not been used in decades. It rips memories from the mind of whoever is seated within it’s clutches and displays them for all to see. He had just been forced to relive the memory of his discussion with Cornelius a few days before the third task of the triwizard tournament.

That had been a rough meeting, he needed the media, the government, and as much of the country to turn on Harry as possible. He needed the boy isolated, scared, in order to maneuver him into taking the actions necessary for Voldemort’s defeat. Not that the people here would see that. No, they would see an old man working against the interests of a young boy. Which it was, yes, but it was also working in each of their interests.

Before he could begin to formulate a statement to attempt to alleviate the emotions of the viewers, he was being pulled down into another memory.

Albus sat on the floor of his childhood bedroom. An hour ago his future had died. Before his eyes flashed the look of betrayal on Aberforth’s face as he left the house. The fear in Gellert’s as he fled the country, not to be seen or heard from again for more than a decade. And Arianna, little Arianna, dead, in his arms.

He had been wrong, Gellert had been wrong. Fear would not control people, pain would not lead them. They could not use might or power to achieve their dreams. He would have to find another way. Fear and pain could herd the masses, push them in a direction. Until they broke, until they turned on the hands that bit and tore at them, and struck back.

“Kindness.” He spoke out loud to the empty room. “People can be controlled with kindness. Arianna certainly was. Aberforth could always calm her with his kindness, when she would not listen to Mother’s soothing, or my wisdom. Yes, I will control them with kindness. I will make myself into a loving friend, and later, a father.” He chuckled lightly. “And later still, a grandfather, thought that will be many years off. But how, how can I do it?”

He stood and walked to his desk, shoving everything atop it to one side and pulling out a roll of parchment. “Not Minister. That position is universally disliked. One side or the other always hates whatever the Minister is doing. But Chief Warlock, that would give me the power to control the argument. Not the vote, but the argument itself, which in turn will give me the ability to affect the outcome of any vote, and most people won’t even notice if I do it right.” He spoke to himself as he began to write out ideas and plans.

“Headmaster, obviously I won’t be able to start there, but eventually. The Headmaster of Hogwarts is universally liked, at least when he does a good job. And I can reduce the available subjects, I’ll just need a good reason to convince the board and the parents. Lowering the standards would help too, keep the people dumb. That way they will be less likely to notice what’s going on behind the scenes.”

There were more, so many more. He was forced to relive some of the roughest moments of his life. Planning the rise of Tom Riddle as the Dark Lord, having his plans interrupted by the rise of Gellert. The defeat of Gellert, which he had never wanted anyone else to know about.

He had gone to visit his old lover, and shared one last night with him. He woke early, slipping out of bed and taking the wand from the bedside. When he met Gellert later on the field, the man had simply given up, knowing he could not defeat Albus. Though of course, for showmanship, Albus had worked some rather impressive magic, giving the people the show they wanted.

Then came the terrible moment in the war against Voldemort. There had been rumour of a prophecy of his defeat, which meant he would be unable to do it himself, without first dealing with whatever prophecy had been spoken. So he had to track down the seer that had given that prophecy, and everyone who had heard it. Then kill them all, and make it look like a death eater attack.

Then he created his own prophecy, just in case he had missed someone, or they had told others. Arranging for Severus to overhear the prophecy he had tricked Sybill Trelawney into giving was a nightmare. And then to have him turn against Voldemort over it. That was a surprise, but a useful one.

And finally, planning the death of the Potters in order to fulfill the prophecy, so that he could show up at the last moment, the fidelius broken by the death of those it had protected, to take out Voldemort and rise even higher in the view of the people. Gaining the Potter fortune was merely an added bonus, but a rather pleasant one. With them gone he would have the second Hallow, and be that much closer to fulfilling a childhood dream.

Too bad the boy had to live. He still didn’t know how that had been accomplished, but at least he’d been able to use it to his advantage. Even if he’d had to improvise. Tom had made himself “immortal” and now Albus had time to figure out exactly what he’d done and how, so he could work on undoing it.

When at last he was pulled out of the memories, the entire court was glaring at him.

“Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.” The Court Judge spoke clearly, in a cold, decisive voice. “Never before have I sat in judgement over such crimes. To find that you have been behind so many calamities suffered in the last century is appalling. There will be a tribunal in two days to determine the nature of your sentence. Given the nature and extent of your crimes, it is only fair to handle your sentence in this way. I doubt that I alone could render a judgement fit for these circumstances.

The wait was intolerable for Albus. He had called for Fawkes repeatedly, making him wonder if the bird was also being held somewhere as surely his familiar would have sought him out on his own by now.

When at last he was dragged before the court once more, he was sat before several of his old colleagues. And in the visitor’s section, he saw many old friends. Aberforth was there, and Daedelus Diggle, Elphias Doge, Alastor Moody, and others. Newer friends as well, nearly every new member of the Order, which had been meant to raise him up to a near godlike status after the war had ended. Instead they were here to condemn him, and to witness his final fall.

He ignored the opening statements and speeches, they were nothing but words to fill the space and numb the ears. He waited until the sentence was about to be spoken to tune back in, so that he could begin planning his escape and deciding what he would do next. Perhaps he could free Gellert and together they could try his plan. It wouldn’t work of course, but it would be something to do, until the masses rose against them.

Until he heard what the International court had in mind for him.

“Albus Dumbledore, you have been found guilty of numerous acts of sedition, treason against the magical community of the world, and conspiracy. The normal sentence for these crimes would be a lifetime of imprisonment. However, given your personal power, and the number of people you may have hidden away who would still be willing to act on your behalf, we have reached back further. It was suggested that we simply kill you in order to remove the threat of your continued manipulations from the lives of the people. We have found something better. In order to ensure our safety and our children’s futures. We have decided to make an example of you. You will be stripped of your magic, and cursed such that should you ever again touch a wand or other magical artifact, you will experience great pain. You will then be released to live out the remainder of your days as you wish. A warning to all of the fate which waits for anyone who dares to act as you have.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bad, bad Dumbledore. After a century of following the "kindness as a route to power" concept, I see him as truly believing that he was in the right. That was working towards the good of all. However, just because one believes they are good, doesn't actually make them good.
> 
> I'm not sure if the plotting with Fudge would fit with cannon events, but I think the rest of it can.
> 
> As much as I want to see Dumbledore as a confused, slightly incompetent, but still loving old man, and will continue writing him that way whenever a story allows for it. A friend pointed out some discrepancies in his actions that caused a change in my view of him. On the plus side, that change helped me find plots for two more stories as well as this one. A "betrayed" Harry, following the trope of most or all of his close friends turning out to have been enemies all along, and the plot for my self-insert that I'd been struggling with.
> 
> Yes that's right, I am slowly going crazy. This one is finished, only two chapters left to post. However, I have five more on my screen. A time travel sort of fix-it, that is being re-written as I lost the plot in world building. I'm moving most of that to my self-insert, which is built on the idea of Hermione finding a spell to get information in the Black Library during the summer of OOTP and instead of what she expected, she gets a person whose read books. That one is mostly world building, with a little bit of plot and story. Then I have Pirate Harry, I need a title for that, which is "Harry raised by others" it has a major problem, which is that I have no plot for it, just a collection of scenes which amuse me. And finally, a Legend of Zelda fic, built around a companion I dreamed up from a visit with my sister and her puppies and kittens, who are wonderful and loving and awesome. It's going to be a dramatization of the original Legend of Zelda, with Link having a pet.
> 
> So, I'm not sure which is going to get posted next, as it largely depends on which one I get close enough to finished to be comfortable posting, but rest assured, I haven't given up. I'm just struggling with writer's block.


	14. Chapter 14

Thaddeus Nott stared into his dressing mirror. It had been a long couple of weeks. Ever since Snape had brought that letter from Potter. Oh, he claimed the letter had been sent to the Order, and it certainly read like something that had been intended for a friend's eyes. But Nott knew Snape. Knew how wily the man was capable of being. And more importantly, knew the depth the man had gone into learning what the Ministry called “dark arts” not that any such appalation applied to magic.

While it was not impossible that the boy had done this, the very fact that they had all experienced the same dreams screamed of the lost art of Oneiromancy. And it was far more likely that someone as skilled and studied as Severus Snape had accomplished the deed, than for someone young and unambitious like Potter.

Still, it mattered little. The deed was done, and what mattered now was how everyone was going to react. With the removal of Dumbledore, the Dark Lord was planning a revel. Which would be followed with the rescue of those death eaters still in Azkaban. However, the dreams had revealed things that the Dark Lord had been extremely upset about. He had regularly ordered his followers not to repeat what they had seen, not even to think about it really.

Yet each of them, in their own time, had researched what they had seen, what they had heard. Tom Marvolo Riddle, was a real person, and matched the younger appearance of the Dark Lord. Nott was one of the few people who had photos of the young Voldemort from the first war. Taken with his father. They were definitely the same person. And while the records had been difficult to track down, someone had gone to a great deal of trouble to erase the existence of Tom Riddle, he had found them.

Interesting that the child of a muggle and a squib would espouse the pureblood ideology, he barely qualified as a halfblood, and that only because Meriope hadn’t been disowned. And his reaction to that being made public knowledge was telling. If he had laughed about it, or even simply been angered that it had been revealed, it may not have mattered. But he had tortured his followers for days, tossing crucio’s around like the proverbial candy of muggles.

Making it inevitable really, that followers would turn on him. Everyone had the assumption that it was impossible, that he had used some sort of controlling magic upon them, but he had not. If he had, then all of them would have gone the way of Bellatrix, and shouted their guilt at their trials, rather than claiming imperius as Malfoy had, or explaining coercion as he himself had.

So what remained now, was the question, who would turn on him, and how? Nott knew that this was an important turning point. If they went ahead with the plan to break the others out of the prison, that would be it. The message would be sent to everyone involved, that they were continuing to follow Voldemort. So, if anyone was turning against him, the revel would be their last chance to strike.

Slowly, he placed his white mask over his face, and stood. He couldn’t be sure of what was coming, nor even of which side he would choose, if the choice had to be made. But he would face it, as he had everything else in his life. Back straight and proud, as every Pureblood should.

***

Stanley Hammock had been having a very bad few days. He had gone out of his way to be sure everyone knew it had been himself who had taken the letter to the Prophet. Thus ensuring that he got the praise when it got Dumbledore in trouble. Except when it turned out that the information revealed hadn’t been things the Dark Lord wanted anyone to know, it was also him that took the brunt of the anger.

He’d now spent four days in brutal agony, because now everyone knew the Dark Lord was not a pureblood. He’d been crucio’d by the Dark Lord himself over that, then given to anyone who wanted to add to his torment. Six more crucio’s and a smattering of lesser pain spells and other humiliations. Then he was dragged out of the meeting hall and dumped in a corner.

But now, he was up and moving again at last. And he would get his payback. Oh he had no chance of advancing in the ranks of death eaters now, no he’d earned the dark lord’s personal ire. If he showed his face in the meetings again he’d probably be killed. Tonight was a revel though, to be followed with the extraction of the trusted followers from the prison.

He might be able to use this as a way to make up for his mistake, but why bother. So much work just to earn the attention of a man who tortures his own people when things don’t go the way he wants them to. No, Stanley had a better plan.

Two men in black robes wearing bone white masks stood at the long table gazing upon the spread of food and drink which had been laid out by the Malfoy house elves. While ostensibly they were all supposed to be incognito, unknown and unknowable, behind the masks. Everyone knew where they were. The Malfoy’s Manor was distinct and easily recognised. Even with the family crests covered or hidden behind spells.

***

“So, what do you think of the offerings?” The smooth voice of Gallows Yaxley asked, indicating the table. “Does our Lord not give us good things?”

The second man cocked his head to one side. “I was told most of this was a gift from Madam Zabini. Something to soothe our hearts in these troubled times.”

“Madam Zabini?” Yaxley chuckled darkly. “Has it all been tested? None of us has married the woman, but still. Her prowess is well known, if never proven.”

“Hmm, I would expect that it has, however.” The second man withdrew his wand and waved it over the table. Watching closely, Yaxley was able to discern who the man was now. He recognised the wand, this was Albert Humfrey, currently one of the Ministries repair personnel for the floo system. He’d been a hufflepuff at Hogwarts, a year ahead of Yaxley himself. “All clear.” Humfrey said, and reached for a goblet and a small plate of cheeses.

***

The Ballroom of Malfoy Manor was packed. One hundred forty three, every one of the current crop of death eaters, less those still in Azkaban, were here. Ostensibly, they were preparing for the raid on the prison to free their fellows. In reality, under the dark lord’s very nose, they were discussing whether they truly wished to continue his crusade.

Around the room, men and women in black robes and white masks were chattering in low voices, the general hum of noise drowning out most possibilities of being overheard. Though even at that they discussed in code and innuendo, so as not to be easily found out. One group discussed the possibility of leaving the country. While another meandered around the logistics of turning on their fellows. Still another contemplated the possibilities of going to the Aurors and seeking protection.

On his throne the Dark Lord surveyed his followers. They were a disloyal band, he knew that. The moment they thought they had an opening, they would strike against him. He’d had most of their fathers and mothers murdered, and it was beginning to look like he would have to do the same with this lot and begin again.

The pureblood children were already cowed. Several of the older ones had already submitted themselves to be branded like cattle under his hand. Even a few of the younger ones had asked if they would be allowed to do so. And some of them could be useful. After tonight, he would need to begin planning for the removal of the older generation, so that the more loyal, less questioning among the young could step up.

A commotion along one wall, grabbed everyone’s attention, as one black robed figure dragged a second towards the front of the room. Shoving the struggling form to its knees the first figure ripped the mask from the face of the second. “Speak dog. Tell the Dark Lord what you just said to me.” The booming voice of Macnair rang across the ballroom.

Voldemort raised an internal eyebrow. He would have raised a real one, except he didn’t have them anymore. One more sacrifice to his inhuman image, which was an unfortunate side effect of his resurrection. “Well?” He spoke coldly to the two men who had interrupted his thoughts.

Patrick Parkinson looked up into the cold eyes of the dark lord and shivered. It wouldn’t matter what he said. He knew that look, they all did. They had all seen it, many times in the last week. That was the look their lord got when he was about to curse someone into the floor, no matter what they said. So what did it matter? He was going to feel a cruciatus no matter what he said, but if he told the whole truth, perhaps he would be granted a swift death before he was made to suffer overmuch.

Raising his head defiantly he spoke in a loud, ringing voice. “I said that you, filthy half-blood, have never been worthy of our loyalty, and that we should cast you down into the muck where you belong.”

For a heartbeat, there was silence. It stretched, seeming to go on forever, and for one glorious, incandescent moment, Parkinson hoped. Hoped that his brother and sister Slytherins would for once move openly as he had just done. That for this one instant, they would act and do what they knew to be right. Then Riddle rose from his throne, screaming the torture curse. As it struck him, Patrick allowed himself a small smile. He had sent his wife and daughters away to the villa in France yesterday, with instructions not to return until the war was over. They were safe at least.

For nearly three seconds, no one in the ballroom moved, or even breathed, except for the man screaming in torment on the floor. And then chaos took hold.

None could say who cast first, but between one blink of an eye and the next, spells were flying around the room. Bright blue mingled with gold and silver. The bright purple flames of Dolohoff’s favorite curse, danced about. Even the telling green which left cooling corpses in its wake.

In one corner, Stanley Hammock giggled maniacally as he cast the cruciatus on his former boss again and again. Thinking to himself, “this is far better than the poison I was going to add to the wine.”

Voldemort screamed in rage on the dais of his throne. He watched in horrified glee as his followers dissolved into a frenzy of mad spellwork, several just barely missing him. He tried to regain control of the room, but no one took notice of the spells he cast beyond those he hit, and a few of them turned and flung spellfire back at him.

***

“Madam Zabini.” A young man called after her as she strolled along the garden in her London home. Turning she caught sight of the man. Young, strong, just out of Hogwarts by the look of him. Not what she would consider for her next husband, but for a night, perhaps even two if he was satisfying. She raised an eyebrow and waited for him to speak. “Apologies madam.” He said as he reached a comfortable speaking distance. “I have that delivery notice you asked for.” He held out a roll of parchment.

Accepting the roll, she unfurled it to check the details. “Ah, good.” She smiled noting that the delivery of wares had been made to Malfoy Manor as requested. “Come, let us speak.” She motioned to the young man to walk with her. Something to fill her evening was called for she thought as she allowed the possibilities to float across her mind.

No one would detect what she had done with that shipment. It required two dozen different detection spells, and over an hour of effort to find it all. And none of it would register as harmful, by itself.

An honesty draught applied into the wine, wouldn’t show up under normal detection spells. But would make anyone who drank it more likely to spew out things they would normally keep hidden. An anger enhancement element added to the cheese, making the eater more likely to lash out in destructive ways. And others some more subtle, some less so. But all geared to a single purpose. To send the idiot death eaters into a frenzy such as the world had not seen since the days of the Bacchanals of old Greece.

Come morning she carried a smile that told anyone who looked upon her that she had a secret of incomparable joy. Most assumed it had something to do with the young man who left her chambers in the early morning hours. None guessed at the true meaning. The morning paper carried word of a fire at Malfoy manor. Someone had unleashed fiendfyre, and over one hundred and fifty bodies had been found in the ashes. It was assumed that whoever had cast the spell, had perished in the fire, along with their victims.


	15. Chapter 15

Six Months Later

The ship rocked gently on the waves as it chugged into the Boston harbor. When the passengers were allowed to disembark, a family of red-heads were among the first to step off the rolling deck.

When they were on land Percy took hold of one of the many railings looking out on the ocean and leaned over as though he were going to wretch. Molly stepped up behind him and rubbed gently between his shoulders in a comforting way.

“Three weeks on board and Percy still doesn’t have his sea legs.” George commented quietly to his twin.

“You’d think as fast as the rest of us managed that he would have figured it out eventually.” Fred whispered back.

“We can’t all be the same.” Ginny glared, slapping Fred lightly on the arm. “He’s the only one of us not interested in quidditch. Maybe now we know why.”

“I agree.” Ron said, sliding into the forming circle. “Besides, he’s here with us. He could have just apparated back the first time he got sick and taken a portkey. Mind, I still don’t get why we didn’t do that in the first place.”

“Because we were following Harry’s example.” Arthur answered, draping an arm over Ron’s shoulders. “With the Ministry in shambles after everything, we wanted to leave in a way they couldn’t easily track. Besides, it’s too late to worry about it now. We’re here.” He smiled broadly, looking towards the city.

The younger Weaselys shared a grin at their father's obvious enthusiasm to explore this new world they found themselves in.

Before they could comment further, Molly and Percy rejoined them.

“Sorry everyone.” Percy said as he joined them. “The rolling doesn’t seem to agree with me.”

“It’s alright dear. We understand.” Molly offered, still rubbing her son’s back. She turned her attention to Arthur. “Where do we go from here Arthur?”

Arthur grinned at his wife, a boyish sort of glee in his eye. “I’m not sure Molly dear. There was supposed to be someone waiting for us. So, I guess we either wait a bit for someone to find us, or we go explore and hope we come across them.” He almost hopped in place, looking eager for the chance at getting a closer look at some of the things they could see from where they stood.

“Arthur.” Molly’s voice was sharp. “We need to be sure we have the necessities before we go careening off on some mad adventure. Now how do we find these people who are supposed to be here for us?”

George lifted an arm, pointing off to one side. “I think we look over there.” He said.

Molly glared at her prankster sons. “And why would we do that George?”

Ron, Percy, Ginny, and Arthur, all of whom had turned to look where George had pointed, said in unison. “Probably because there’s a person holding a sign with our name on it.” Then they all turned and looked at each other, before laughing heartilly.

“Also, I’m George.” Fred commented to his mother earning a smack to the back of his head.

“I’m not falling for that anymore Fred. You two may look alike, but I can still tell you apart.” She smiled warmly. “I am your mother after all.”

The twins shared a grin and simultaneously wrapped their mother in bear hugs. “We love you mum.” they chorused, planting sloppy kisses on her cheeks. When they let her go, she was blushing, but beaming proudly.

The sign holder turned out to be a limo driver, who had been hired to pick them up. Much to Arthur and the twins delight, the limo included a guide, who told them about various historical facts, and pointed out famous locations as they drove through the city.

To Arthur’s minor dismay, the ride didn’t take long though, and soon they were pulling into a garage at a rather posh looking hotel.

They were led to a private elevator by the hotel staff, which took them to a penthouse suite. When the doors opened they were greeted with a loud cry of “Surprise!” And six people holding up balloons, bottles, and what looked like wrapped gifts.

After a tearful greeting which included several hugs, Harry, Sirius, Remus, Hermione, and Hermione’s parents led the family into a spacious and well appointed sitting room.

“Welcome Weasleys.” Harry called as they moved to seat themselves on the comfortable sofas. “It’s good to see you all again. I owe you all an apology that has been a long time coming. I didn’t intend for my little prank to go as far as it did. So I hope you will accept the offer I have ready for you.” He looked around apprehensively at their curious expressions and pushed on. “Between us, Sirius and I own the top three floors of this building. We’d like to offer you a place here, we have more than enough space. You can rent out rooms if you want, and stay as long as you like. Or if you prefer you can simply stay until you find a place of your own. In the meantime, you all have a standing invitation to dine here with us as often as you like.”

The Weasley’s shared a look, but before they could answer, Remus stood and began speaking. “I realize that sounds like a lot. It certainly did when they made me the same offer. However, I can tell you from my own searches, that housing here is particularly expensive, and the only thing I could afford on my current budget is in the ‘bad’ part of town.” He reached up and made air quotes around ‘bad’. I’m currently paying them the equivalent of a hundred galleons a year for what is basically a small apartment, one floor down from here. Which is both reasonable for the area, and incredibly cheap. Depending on which side of the magic divide you live on. For muggles, that’s very cheap, for wizards, it’s pretty reasonable. Whether you decide to stay here indefinitely, or just long enough to get on your feet and find a place of your own, I would strongly recommend taking Harry up on the offer.”

Again the Weasleys shared a look, then Arthur turned a beaming smile to Harry. “We accept, thank you very much Harry, Sirius.” He nodded to the former prisoner who had been sitting quietly.

Sirius smiled back at the older man. “You’re welcome Arhtur. You did something I wasn’t able to for Harry. You gave him a look at what a family is supposed to be. Giving you a place to call home, even if only for a short time, is the least I can do.

“So, you have to tell us.” George said, lifting a glass.

“About all the opportunities available here in Boston.” Fred added, touching his own glass to George’s.

“Oh yes.” Arthur chimed. “And will there be a chance for a tour of the city?”

“Arthur.” Molly said wistfully, shaking her head.

This began a discussion of the sights and stores around the city, and the many things there were to do.

As Harry looked over the family he had chosen for himself, he smiled. It may not be traditional, but he was glad they were all together at last. And with no Voldemort to threaten them, no war looming on the horizon to worry them. It looked like they had a long time to grow closer, and build their lives together.

Fin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, the end of another tale. I feel accomplished. And yet, also a little sad. Time to let it out into the world to frolic and play, and make its own way. While I go to work on another. As I mentioned earlier, I have a few more in process. Not sure which will be finished first, but I'd guess the next one will be ready to begin posting in a month or two. Though, that is just a guess. I may get hyper and slam one out faster than I thought possible, or more likely, have a horrid bought of writer's block and just stare at the screen for a while. Either way, I look forward to hearing your feedback. :-)


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